Beasts
by HeroicVal-Rye
Summary: Arthur is ambitious. Alfred is being hunted. In the middle of a revolution, a soldier and an assassin find that they have more in common than they expected. Cardverse AU. USUK.
1. Chapter 1

_Stand tall for the beast of America_

_Lay down like a naked dead body_

_Keep it real for the people working overtime_

_They can't stay living off the government dime_

In the Spadean province of America, Lieutenant Arthur Kirkland looked over the unfamiliar landscape. THe province was heavily wooded with dark, fertile soil and gorgeous rivers, long plains with billowing grasses and fields of grain. The province was a peasant's paradise, in Arthur's opinion. Not that he actually knew if the peasantry only wanted farming in life. He was nobility - a lesser noble, granted, but nobility nevertheless - and couldn't possibly know what life in the lower class was like. Still, the commoners had always been content.

Well, they had been content until recently, when they decided to throw a hissy-fit and revolt. That was why Arthur was here with his platoon, overlooking a small settlement. Teal Company had been ordered to quarter here and watch for any rebel activity.

Arthur reined his horse to the side when his commanding officer, an intimidating man by the name of Captain Gilbert Beilschmidt, ordered a march. He felt just a slight pinprick of resentment, that a foreign mercenary was higher up the chain of command than him, but he forced it down. Gilbert was good at what he did. Arthur would just have to learn to be better.

The company follows a wide path of packed dirt, the officers easily distinguished from the crowds of marching violet soldiers by their crimson uniforms and high positions on horseback. A pleasant breeze blew, ruffling Arthur's messy blond hair. Arthur vaguely wondered if the locals would be hospitable. He had heard rumors that the commoners were less than friendly to the Spadean military. It astounded Arthur. He couldn't understand why they wouldn't welcome the army warmly, glad for the extra defenses in case of an invasion.

Arthur was torn out of his musings by a call from the captain. Arthur kicked his tan stallion into a trot and rode up to Gilbert. "Yes, Captain?"

"Lieutenant, how would you describe your observational skills?"

Arthur frowned. What an odd question. "I'd think that they were above average, sir."

"You're not just stroking your ego, are you?" Gilbert gave a hearty laugh while Arthur flushed as scarlet as his coat. "I'm just kidding. Listen, keep an eye out for any rumors about the 'Nighteagle', alright? Rumor has it that this is his hometown."

_Nighteagle?_ "Sorry, sir, I'm not familiar with this man...?"

Gilbert nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess us military men haven't had time to hear the people's rumors. Alright. What I'm about to tell you is strictly need-to-know, and you're the only person who needs to know. Nighteagle is a rebel assassin currently in the capital of Spades. He murders nobility and takes their money and clothing. No one knows why. The only thing we really know about him is he's fast, strong, arrogant, and leaves knife marks on the chests of his victims resembling eagle's feet."

"Should I report anything I discover to you, sir?" Arthur asked, still processing this new information.

"You got it. Now get back in formation, Lieutenant. If you find anything good, I'll tell the higher-ups nice things about you."

Arthur drifted back to the head of his platoon, a grin slowly spreading over his face. Little did the Heartian captain know that that was exactly what the young lieutenant wanted to hear.

In the Spadean province of England, the Nighteagle looked out over the rooftops of the city. It was broad daylight, and yet, no one noticed him. Nobility didn't often check their roofs for thieves. Or, in this case, black-clad assassins.

Alfred F. Jones, better known as the Nighteagle, didn't particularly like his job. Killing people was pretty high up on his list of things not to do. But someone needed to do the dirty work around here, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be his brother.

As usual, today's hit was going to be another member of the light-forsaken one was guilty of tax-dodging. _Dirty swine._

Alfred pulled his hood up over his head and made sure his bandana covered his face. Certain that the black cloth was secure on the bridge of his nose, he dropped into an open window.

HIs soft boots scarcely made a sound in the plush carpet. To Alfred's right was a door, from which quiet snoring reverberated. _Oh, no. Light, anything but this!_ Alfred thought. His dislike of killing was strong, but the hate he held for murdering the defenseless burned beyond compare.

_I can't do it. I'll have to wake him up. He has to have at least a fighting chance._ Alfred swallowed nervously and pushed open the door, wincing when it creaked.

He crept softly toward the lump on the bed. He was painfully aware of the various daggers hidden around his body. When he reached the head of the snoring noble, Alfred tapped the man's nose.

The noble woke with a start, eyes widening when they took in the Nighteagle. He smiled sadly at the man's surprise. "You-you're the Nighteagle!" the man choked out.

Alfred nodded. "Yeah. I have to kill you. I'm sorry." The Nighteagle pulled out a dagger. It burned in his hand like a curse.

The noble stumbled backwards, eyes wide with fear. He fumbled with the handle of a drawer, pulling an ornate dagger out when he opened it successfully.

The Nighteagle judged that this was more than enough of a fighting chance. The dagger soared, its path ending between the ribs of the man, embedded in his heart.

The noble fell and so did Alfred's heart.

Alfred pulled the dagger out of his chest. Mechanically, he cut open the shirt of the noble and made four quick stabs into his chest. The Nighteagle's Strike. His calling card.

Wiping the blood off the dagger with cloth, Alfred cast his eyes around the room, repressing all emotions. No matter how much he did it, for whatever cause, killing never got easier. He pulled two sacks out of his belt and walked over to the wardrobe. All the clothing within it was stuffed into one of the sacks. The blue silk, over some stout wool, would make fine uniforms for the rebels.

Into the other sack went anything that looked valuable. Gold, silver, jewels, and coins all made their way to the rough bag. The property of the tax-dodging citizens would fund the hardworking rebels. Alfred could taste the irony.

Alfred left quickly, not wanting to linger at the scene of the crime. He sped across the rooftops and right out of the city to a small nearby forest, where a gentle black mare and more full sacks waited patiently. Alfred paused only to stroke his horse's nose and murmur, "Howdy, Beth," before setting to work, tying the sacks onto the saddle. When that was finished, he changed into civilian clothing and mounted the mare, kicking her flanks to set her at a gallop. It would take three days of hard riding to get back home to Richmond. One the road, he saw somewhat recent footprints in neat rows. An army was on the march. His face contorting into a frown, he sped forward towards home.

* * *

**AN: Sorry, guys. I started a new story. I'm in an endless cycle of writing now, haha. See, my Camp NaNoWriMo story is starting out with government corruption, so I've been listening to ****_Beasts of America_**** for inspiration, and this prompted me to write a fanfiction. Which is in the Cardverse AU! Yay! Although Alfred and Arthur aren't going to end up being in the royal family in this one. Whoops.**

**By the way, the events of this chapter take place at the same time.**

**So, as this is my current interest, I'll be updating this frequently. I've got quite a few chapters done already. Enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Stand tall for the people of America_

_Stand tall for the man next door_

_We are free in the land of America_

_And we ain't going down like this, c'mon now_

The rumors were true, but not quite. With careful observation, Arthur could tell that the locals were hostile, but not openly so. And not all of them. Many of the civilians of Richmond were truly grateful for the soldiers' presence. Others were on the fence, unsure of whether they should support the soldiers or the rebels. Others still just didn't care.

Arthur quartered with the other two lieutenants in a small house occupied by the town's quiet medic. Arthur was unsure of where the man's loyalties lied, but he seemed kindhearted. Matthew was his name, if Arthur recalled correctly. He brewed wonderful tea.

When Arthur went outside around noon, two days after his arrival, the town buzzed. There were quiet whispers and mutters, excited sounds that Arthur couldn't overhear. He went to the town's tavern, a place where tongues loosened by alcohol might give him a lead.

The interior of the tavern was clean, a serving maid sweeping the floor while another carried orders to the many tables in the common room. There were quite a few people there - not uncommon for noon, since the tavern served food as well as drink - but nowhere near the crowds of nightfall. Arthur seated himself in a bar stool beside two men. "One lager, please," he said to the bartender, and then he turned his attention to the locals beside him.

"How can you tell he's coming home today?" the light-haired man asked his dark-haired companion.

"He sends out carrier pigeons, Stevie!" Dark-hair replied. "Every time he's coming back he sends one. C'mon, Steve, it's common sense."

"It's a dark job, what he does," the one named Steve said with a frown.

"Yeah, well, someone has to do it. He doesn't like being Nighteagle any more than you or I would. Which is to say, not at all."

Arthur turned his head ever so slightly, taking a sip of his drink. Jackpot.

"So you're sure he's coming back today, Tony?" Steve continued.

"Uh-huh."

"Where's he gonna be?"

"He said he's going to stay home for a while with his brother. The boy deserves a break."

"He's not a boy anymore."

"Yeah. I guess killing makes you grow up faster."

Arthur left a coin at the table and hastily left the bar, his drink barely touched. He walked swiftly toward the governor's house, where the captain was staying. After knocking in the door, he was admitted and shown to Gilbert's study.

The white-haired man looked up from the desk, where reports were strewn about. "Got something for me, lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir." Arthur quickly explained what he had overheard in the tavern. Gilbert remained expressionless throughout.

"That's some good stuff you've got, Kirkland," Gilbert said at the end. "Very good stuff."

"Thank you, sir."

"See if you can find out who Nighteagle's brother is. Good work, Lieutenant Kirkland."

Arthur headed out from the governor's house with a small sack of coins. His reward for information. More would come if he found out who the assassin's brother was, and more still if he got the Nighteagle's name. And then there was the grand prize: a promotion for the capture of the infamous assassin.

Arthur stationed himself in the tavern, right by a window overlooking the main street. If anyone passed into the town, he would see. His ambition would not be silenced until it had been quenched of its thirst.

Alfred could see Richmond after riding for three days, resting only at night. As he rode into town, he noticed that the rebels' grins seemed tighter. Alfred already knew why.

The tracks he had found on the road continued all the way to Richmond. A group of soldiers - a company; at least three platoons - had passed through the town or was quartered there. That much, Alfred knew. Why they were here was a mystery. One he intended to solve.

He led Beth into the tavern and gave her some oats to munch on while he removed her saddle and wiped her down. "Good job, Beth," he smiled, patting her flank fondly. He wiped the sweat until his horse's coat gleamed. Satisfied, he stuffed the sacks under a pile of hay, where another rebel would pick them up, and headed into the common room of the tavern for a congratulatory drink.

When Alfred walked through the door, he noticed the multitude of new faces, clad in violet uniforms. So the soldiers are still here. He sat down at the bar beside a blond soldier in a red coat and called for "the usual."

"Hello," aforementioned soldier said.

"Hi," Alfred replied. No need to be rude and raise suspicion, even if the uniform offended him.

"You're obviously from here, but I haven't seen you around. Where've you been at?"

Alfred chuckled. "That's the weirdest conversation starter I've ever heard. I was in Boston, taking care of my sick cousin." The lie came easily.

The soldier frowned. "I'm sorry to hear about that. What do they have?"

"Oh, nothing that serious. Just a cold. Better safe than sorry, though." He extended a hand. "The name's Jones. Alfred Jones."

The other man grasped his hand. "Lieutenant Arthur Kirkland."

Alfred took a sip of his drink, the lager coating his throat raw from dust. "So, what brings the Spadean army to Richmond?"

"We're here to watch for any revolts," Arthur replied.

Alfred feigned ignorance. "Revolts? What do you mean?"

Arthur stared at him. "You must've heard. Everybody knows."

Alfred shook his head. "I don't."

Arthur looked from side to side, then leaned in closer. "There's been talk of a rebellion. Rumors saying that America will secede from Spades."

Artificial shock crossed Alfred's face. "Really? No way!"

Arthur nodded, taking a long drought of his own drink. "And there's more."

"More?"

"Mm. Scuttlebutt says that this is the home of the Nighteagle, the infamous assassin."

"Oh, I've heard of him," Alfred whispered. "Cold-hearted killer who steals money, right?"

"And clothes. He steals clothes, too." The soldier leaned in even closer, alcohol on his breath. "I've been ordered to catch him."

Alfred's blood ran cold. Had he been discovered? Was this soldier toying with him? Or was this just cruel fate, serendipity for Arthur? "Aren't you scared that he'll kill you?"

"Oh, please. I'm from a house of minor nobility. He won't target me."

"I've heard he makes no distinction. Kills nobility, no matter how powerful or weak."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "We'll see."

"So where are you staying?" Alfred inquired.

"With the local medic, Matthew...Williams, was it?"

Alfred paled. _We're going to be in the same house. He's hunting me and we're going to be in the same house._

Arthur frowned. He must've noticed Alfred's lack of color. "Are you alright, lad?"

Alfred blinked. "Y-yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just...That's my brother."

Arthur nodded in sympathy, then took a double take. "Didn't you say your name was Jones?"

Alfred nodded. "Mattie got married about a year ago. The girl didn't want to change her name - some weird Diamonds custom - so Matt did instead. She was a pretty girl. Great cook. Very kind-hearted and warm. Caught her death in their first winter. The only patient Matthew wasn't able to save." A complete lie. Alfred had changed his own last name so that Matthew - at first glance on a list of names - would seem unrelated, and thus kept out of any trouble the Nighteagle got into. "We don't like to talk about it."

"Your brother has my sympathies. My mother passed in that way."

Guilt tore through Alfred. here he was, lying about a fictional woman's death, when a real woman had left her son alone. Sometimes, he really hated his life.

"It's a tragic way to go, isn't it?" Alfred's face was an impassive, though sympathetic, mask.

Arthur nodded in agreement. "Well, I'm done here. If you've finished as well, we could make our way to Matthew's together."

"Sure." Alfred stood up and flipped a coin casually onto the table. "I'll show you around town on the way."

The cat and mouse left the tavern together. Alfred thought the price of freedom was starting to grow to be too steep.

* * *

**AN: Wow, guys, thanks for the follows and favorites! Heheh, I really should be writing my Camp NaNoWriMo novel, but I just really like this story!**

**Leave your thoughts, please! There's going to be a lot going on, and I want to hear what all you lovely people think is going to happen!**


	3. Chapter 3

On the way to Matthew's (and Alfred's, Arthur supposed), Alfred pointed out different shops and described their owners. He often spoke of personal experiences with them, recounting many misadventures that kept Arthur giggling under his breath. As they walked, the townspeople gave Alfred funny looks. Arthur wondered why. Perhaps Alfred usually sided with the rebels? His previous ignorance of the existence of the rebellion contradicted that, however.

Once at Matthew's doorstep, Alfred flung open the door as if he owned the place. Which he at least partially did, but that didn't excuse the horrible shock the man gave to his brother.

"Alfred!" Matthew yelled after he had recovered. "Ever heard of knocking!?"

Alfred ignored Matthew and pulled him into a bear hug. "I missed you, little bro!"

Matthew rolled his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I missed you, too."

Alfred released his brother, and Matthew turned to face Arthur. "I see you two have met," Matthew noted.

"Indeed we have," Arthur replied, smiling slightly. Alfred's joy was contagious, it seemed.

"Well, now have a fine little problem," Matthew said. "There aren't enough rooms. Al, Arthur's been in your room with two other lieutenants. You're gonna have to share with me."

Alfred nodded slowly. "I could go stay at the blacksmith's," he suggested. "Tony loves having me over."

"Actually, that won't be necessary," Arthur chimed in. "The other lieutenants are moving out." This was his other reward for good information. "It'll just be me here, now."

"Well, we still don't have much room for everyone, although that does help a lot. Someone will have to share," Matthew stated.

"I don't mind sharing with Arthur," Alfred said. "I know you don't like sharing your room ever since Francine..."

Matthew nodded quickly, cutting his brother off. "Arthur, if that's alright with you."

"That's fine," Arthur replied. "I don't mind at all."

"Then it's settled." Matthew clapped his hands together. "Who wants tea?"

"Not me!" Alfred sped out of the room. His footsteps could be heard as he ascended the stairs. A door slamming confirmed that the man had holed up in his room.

"Looks like it's you and me," Matthew said. He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Arthur alone in the sitting room.

Arthur sat down in a sofa by the window. The warm sunlight brought a smile to his face. Arthur loved sunshine. Its gentle heat was like a lover's caress, kind and loving and forgiving and everything Arthur had never known. So radically different from the dreary rain of England Province, where Arthur had grown up. So new and beautiful, like a breath of life in a forsaken world.

Matthew came back in with two cups of tea, placing one before Arthur. The older man murmured a quiet thank you and picked up the fine china, sipping lightly. The tea was a harmonious mixture of herbs handmade by the medic himself. Matthew had said previously that it helped calm nerves and relieve headaches, besides having a lovely flavor.

"So, how long are you staying?" Matthew asked. After a slight pause, he added, "Sorry, that was rude. I just wanted to know if I should stock up on food or not."

"It's fine," Arthur replied. "I'm not sure myself how long we'll be here. It can't be for too long, however. You shouldn't trouble yourself."

"Hm." Time passed in silence disturbed only by the soft sipping of tea. Neither man particularly wanted to speak, and so they merely enjoyed each other's company for a time. Arthur let himself drift into thought for a while, until he came up with a question to ask the soft-spoken medic.

"Why doesn't Alfred like tea?" he inquired, breaking the silence. Matthew shrugged.

"He just doesn't like the taste, I suppose. He always complains that it tastes too bland for him."

"How strange," Arthur mused. "I had always heard that America Provincians loved tea more than life itself."

Matthew chuckled. "Some do. Most just like the company that comes with tea."

"Interesting."

"What about England Provincians? Do they like tea?"

Arthur gave Matthew a wry smile. "More than life itself."

Alone in his room, Alfred sat in a corner, arms wrapped around his knees and his mind racing. The small part of his brain that remained rational chided him for his blatantly unheroic behavior, but the rest of him was flooded with fear and confusion.

Because of the story about Matthew's "wife", Alfred had been forced to either share a room with the man intent on killing him or risk being discovered. He chose to share his bedroom with the man who would be his murderer. He had to pretend that everything was okay, but everything wasn't okay. Everything was horribly wrong, and Alfred didn't think he could hide it anymore.

And what if he had his nightmares? What if he was plagued with bad dreams, images of the men he had killed, as he so often was? And what if Arthur noticed? How could he explain that? One nightmare was dismissible, but one every night? Definitely suspicious.

The worst part was, his panicked mind couldn't come up with a good cover story. This only throw Alfred further into panic. A vicious cycle.

Alfred seriously considered going downstairs and asking Matthew for some tea. He hated the taste, but he didn't grudgingly admit that it helped with nerves. Even if he truly wanted a cup, though, Arthur was down there, and Alfred didn't think his mask would be convincing until he calmed down a bit.

He sat in the corner for what felt like hours, taking deep breaths, until his mind quieted. When he felt stable enough, he got up and plopped into his bed. The window said the sun was setting anyway. Might as well get some extra rest.

Arthur seemed to be of a like mind, because he came in not five minutes later. The soldier didn't acknowledge Alfred while he changed, nor did he say anything when he crawled in beside him. Alfred felt panic rising again, but he squashed it down. He needed to brainstorm

Arthur blew out a candle on the bedstand and pulled the blankets up around him while Alfred thought. What could be a good explanation for nightmares every night? He thought for a good long while, remembering every little detail of recent history in the nearby area. His thinking went on long past the sun's descent beyond the horizon, and when the plan finished formulating in his mind, he smiled at the simplicity of it. The best lies always had a nugget of truth within them.

Still grinning, Alfred closed his eyes, letting his breathing slow and his dreams wake up.

* * *

**AN: Those of you who have been following my writing blog have been hearing of some interesting news... No details on that yet, but we can remain hopeful! For anybody who doesn't know how to find my writing blog, it is theheroofilliteracy . tumblr . com minus the spaces.**

**So, what do you guys think of it so far? I haven't heard any thoughts yet! C'mon, guys, it's okay to tell me: ****_am I doing something wrong?_**** Also, how do you guys like this updating schedule? I hope you're glad that I'm neglecting my Camp NaNo novel to update this for you so often. I'm pretty glad I'm doing that, too.**

**Until tomorrow! :DDDDDDD**


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur woke several times that night, all of them because of Alfred. The first time he woke, he felt very cold. He discovered that this was because Alfred was a notorious blanket-stealer. The second time was because Alfred rolled over and breathed into Arthur's ear, snoring lightly. The third time was because Alfred started crying.

They were quiet sobs, but loud enough to wake the sleeping soldier. The warm breath came raggedly, and the young man's body shook.

He must've been having a nightmare. Arthur didn't know what to do, though. Should he wake him? Comfort him? Waking him seemed like a bad idea. He might be more frightened by the sudden transition between dream and reality, or think that Arthur was whatever was causing his nightmare. But Arthur really didn't want to hug him. They barely knew each other, for light's sake!

He settled on poking and seeing what would happen. Arthur poked Alfred's cheek gently. This resulted in causing the other man to jump suddenly, then resume his previous sobbing.

Arthur sighed. He very well couldn't just leave Alfred to his nightmares. It was dishonorable. Reluctantly, he wrapped his arms around Alfred's trembling form. To his great surprise, Alfred's arms twined around Arthur, trapping him in a cage of muscles. He buried his face in the older man's chest.

Arthur smoothed Alfred's hair, smiling slightly as the young man slowly stilled. "There, now, you're alright," Arthur murmured. "It was just a dream."

Alfred quieted, and his arms grew limp, releasing Arthur from his grasp. Arthur rested his chin on Alfred's head and closed his eyes. Alfred's quiet, comforting snores resumed, lulling Arthur to sleep. The soldier did not dream that night. Instead, he slept restfully for the first time in years.

Alfred woke up wrapped in warmth. This wasn't the first time it had happened - the blankets had a way of mysteriously wrapping themselves around him at night - but the warmth was different. More present, in a way. And he had had fewer nightmares that night. Just one, and only the face of one of his victims had been present to taunt him.

Alfred opened his eyes to find his arms around Arthur, and Arthur's arms around him. The soldier still slept. Panic rose up through Alfred. The man who wanted to kill him had comforted him in one of his weakest moments, and still held him trapped. Fear flooded through him, turning his blood to ice. Fear for Matthew, fear for his friends, fear for the fate of the rebellion. And, Alfred realized vaguely, fear for himself. He didn't think he had ever felt that. Not since he was a small child, surely.

Alfred gently eased himself out of Arthur's arms, blood pounding in his ears. His hands moved to finger the dagger stuffed in his sock. He didn't want to use it, but he would if he had to.

Arthur didn't stir, although his chest still rose and fell with his slow breaths. Alfred slowly crept out of the room and shut the door.

He fled to Matthew's room, his well-trained feet silent against the wooden floor. Alfred didn't bother knocking; he just threw himself into the room. His brother sat up rapidly at the sound of the door closing. "What's the problem, Al?" Matthew asked, his voice alert. He must've noticed Alfred's panicked expression.

"You have to keep Arthur away from me," Alfred blurted out. "For as long as possible, as often as possible. He's hunting me." He didn't like involving his brother, but he had to. Just this once.

"Did he figure out who you really are?" Matthew asked, an expression mirroring his twin's on his face.

"Not yet. But it's only a matter of time. He's got orders to turn me in."

Matthew thought for a moment. "You'll have to leave Richmond as soon as you can," he concluded.

"But won't that be suspicious?"

"Better minor suspicion than inevitable capture."

Alfred nodded slowly. "I'll leave tomorrow morning," he decided. "To minimize suspicion as much as I can."

"We'll have to think of a good reason for you leaving," Matthew added. For the next half hour, the two twins quietly discussed their options. Alfred also mentioned his cover story for his nightmares. Once they had a rough plan sketched out, Matthew said, "We can talk about this more when Arthur's away." He stood up and put a comforting hand on Alfred's shoulder. "We'll get out of this okay, big bro. You've got me on your side."

Alfred smiled weakly. "You know, for being fifteen minutes younger, you sure are a whole lot smarter than I am."

Matthew smiled back. "I'll make some breakfast. You go hang out with Tony or Steve or someone. Keep away from the house for a while."

Alfred nodded. He snuck back to his room, changed his clothes, and left the house. He went to Steve's place. A sparring session and a quiet heart to listen to his worries could be the perfect cure for his nerves. He stubbornly refused to drink the tea.

* * *

**AN: Not much to say today, except that I need to write some more because the amount of words on here is getting terrifyingly close to how many words I have down on paper. Until tomorrow!**


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur woke up feeling more rested than he had ever felt before. Fresh air and good company seemed to be very beneficial. Arthur nearly skipped down the stairs, grinning ear-to-ear when he smelled bacon cooking. Was this how Alfred woke up every morning? No wonder he was always so happy.

"Good morning, Matthew," the soldier greeted brightly. "That bacon smells lovely."

"Thank you. You're cheerful this morning," Matthew commented.

"Astute observation. I feel much more rested than I usually do." Arthur looked around the kitchen. "Where's Alfred?"

"He went out," Matthew replied. "He's probably with a friend or something."  
"Catching up with his mates after his trip?  
"Something like that."

"Hm." Arthur gratefully took a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. The warm, rich taste spread across his tongue with every bite. Every taste was a journey to the sky, as if one of the ingredients in the meal was hope for freedom, hope for a better life, hope for anything at all.

"Wonderful as always, Matthew," Arthur said when he had finished.

"Thank you. It was my mother's recipe."

"She was very gifted, then." Arthur paused for a moment. "Alfred had a nightmare last night," he started slowly. "I was wondering if this was a chronic occurrence."

Matthew nodded. "Our little family suffers from nightmares," he explained. "Alfred has nightmares about a fire in Boston. He was trapped in a burning building. Al was only five at the time. He was lucky to get out alive. He frequently dreams about it, though. Me, I dream about... well. You know."

_His wife._ "Right. I understand." This morning was beginning to take a somber turn. He decided to leave before his good mood was spoiled. Arthur stood up and pulled his jacket on. "I must go see to my rounds now. Have a good day, Matthew."  
"You, too."

Arthur left the house and mounted his horse. He wasn't really lying. He was "seeing to his rounds," in a sense. But instead of keeping an eye out for disturbances, as average recruits and sergeants would be doing, he was looking for a specific person. An assassin.

He certainly wouldn't mind the money that would come with the Nighteagle's capture, but that wasn't what Arthur really craved. His ambition, a ravenous beast buried deep within him, hungered for a promotion, for more power. Arthur knew that once he was promoted, he wouldn't be satisfied, but his current goal was at least a first sergeant. With luck, a captain. Equal to Gilbert. And soon, better than him. The Nighteagle consumed his life.

The town was lively, but not unnaturally so. Not like on the day of Alfred's and Nighteagle's arrival. People stood or walked in small groups, chatting idly about the weather or the coming harvest. Arthur had to admit, the produce here tasted much better than the sad, soggy efforts of the farmers in England Province. These people certainly had something to be proud of. Perhaps that was why the cooking of the America Provincianers was so much better than Arthur's own.

There was still no sign of any assassins, though Arthur had never expected this to be easy. Still, even a rumor about the NIghteagle would be welcome, but the people of Richmond remained close-lipped. Arthur really didn't want to visit the taverns again, since he was certain that he would develop a drinking problem if he had any more exposure to booze. Unfortunately, it seemed to be the only place he could get word about his quarry. He decided to try to local produce shop. Matthew would appreciate a gift, and Alfred had mentioned that the owner was chatty.

Arthur pulled open the door, a bell tinkling to signal his arrival. A portly man behind the counter greeted him warmly, if somewhat rudely.

"Howdy, there! Haven't gotten much of your type in here!"

Arthur frowned. "My type?"

"Spadean soldiers, of course!" the elderly man exclaimed.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "So I suppose you side with the rebellion, then."

The man grinned. "I most certainly do! But I won't say no to any business the enemy brings in! If they choose to bring it in, that is." He gestured to the shelves filled with fruit around the store. "Have a look around! Finest fruit and freshest vegetables in all of America!"

"America Province," Arthur muttered under his breath. Raising his voice, he asked, "Why are you people rebelling, anyway? How has the rest of Spades wronged you?"

"Simple, kid," the man replied. "It's all about trade, and no one knows trade better than I do."

"Explain."

"Patience, young grasshopper. So, like I said, it's all about trade. See, America used to be really industrial. But England Province started importing all its tech stuff from China Province. Because it's cheaper, ya know? And then they started importing food from China Province, too. Meanwhile, America was still buying luxury items from England Province. Since we weren't exporting, but we _were_ still importing, America started losing money. So while England and China Provinces got richer, America got poorer and poorer."

"But that was your own fault!" Arthur interrupted.

"I'm not done yet. Where was I?" The gray man paused, thinking. "Right. Getting poorer. So America was losing money. Neither of the other two provinces in Spades wanted to buy from us. Eventually, we didn't have enough money to keep our factory doors open, so a huge asset to our economy was lost. We stopped importing as much as we could, but it was too late. At that point, we started getting desperate. America opened trade routes from Boston to various ports in Diamonds and Hearts. Trade boomed for a while, and things started to look up for us. Until the monarchy found out."

"And what happened then?"

"The King sent soldiers down to Boston to shut down the port, deeming that international trade was the King's to negotiate, not the provinces'. When the Americans complained, the port was burned. That was fifteen years ago, and ever since then, there has been talk of rebellion. Only now are we acting on those words, though!" The shopkeeper smiled brightly.

"You still hold a grudge, even after so many years?"

The other man shrugged. "It's not like we've gotten any more money. Life's been steadily getting worse for us Americans. Now, are you gonna stand there and listen to an old man's regrets, or are you gonna buy something?"

Arthur grabbed an empty basket and filled it with the fruit of the spring. He brought it up to the counter, still musing over his one-sided conversation. The shopkeeper spilled the fruit onto a scale, eyeing the needle. After a quick inspection, he said, "That'll be thirty three marks, please."

"Marks?"

"The currency around here. We'll take Spadean pounds, too. It's eighteen of those." Arthur dug the coins out of his satchel, dropping them into the elderly man's hand. "Nice doing business with ya."

"And you as well. Thank you for the...intriguing story." Arthur departed to deliver the fruit to Matthew. He mulled over the price in his head. Eighteen pounds. Cheaper than the pathetic fruit back home. Perhaps the Americans did have something to rebel over.

Slash, jump, roll, block, stab, backflip, repeat. Alfred went through the motions fluidly, stepping perfectly in this dance between life and death. His sparring partner was just as elegant, if not more so; Steve had a few more years of practice under his belt, besides having a different, more defensive style of fighting.

Alfred loved sparring with Steve. The difficulty of the battle forced him into a void, a silent place where all his fears and worries were incinerated in a single flame. All he was left with was the burning of his muscles.

As usual, the two of them ended in a draw, panting on the floor of Steve's practice room. After they caught their breaths, they stood up and shook hands/

"Feeling better, Al?" Steve asked. Alfred nodded.

"Tons better. Thanks a lot."

"It's no problem. You want to talk about whatever's on your mind?"

"Sure."

The two of them left the sparring room in favor of Steve's sitting room, where they inclined in armchairs facing each other. The room was decorated simply, but elegantly, with many of the lovely paintings Steve made. The reason they were here, though, was because Steve had been unable to sell them. The people of Richmond could barely afford the food on their table, let alone paintings.

"So, what's the problem?" Steven inquired.

Alfred sighed. "It's... It's kind of complicated."  
"I'm listening."

Alfred explained how he had found out his hunter was quartering with him and the events that had transpired as a result. "It's so ironic, isn't it? I'm an assassin. I'm supposed to be the hunter, not the hunted. And here I am, scared out of my mind that I'll be discovered, the rebellion with be squashed, and I'll be killed."

"It's only a natural fear. If you didn't feel like that, I'd be afraid that you'd become something less than human."

"Still... I have so many flaws," Alfred sighed. "I feel like a pretty terrible hero."  
Steve frowned. "How so? Heroes aren't supposed to be larger-than-life. If they are, they become corrupted and turn into the very things they were fighting. The best heroes - and the best people - have flaws, because flaws are what make us human and keep our heads deflated. Don't hide your flaws, and don't be ashamed of them. They're important, even if they don't seem that way."

Alfred blinked. "Wow, everyone sure seems a hella lot smarter than I am. Thanks, Steve. That was... surprisingly helpful." Alfred paused for a moment. "You know, I'm pretty sure you're the most heroic person I know."

Steve flushed. "I'm just a kid from Brooklyn."

"If you're a kid, I'm a toddler." Alfred stood up. "Thanks for the advice, Steve. See ya."

"Bye."

Alfred showed himself out and walked down the street, whistling nonchalantly and occasionally stopping to chat with passerby. He almost had a heart attack when he was Arthur leaving the produce store, forcing Alfred to dart into an alley to avoid him.

When Arthur passed, Alfred resumed his previous walking. Calm came back easily now. It stayed in his being for a while, until he reached the town square.

THere was a large crowd of people that Alfred had to push past to reach the main attraction. Two Spadean soldiers held the local librarian, Sage Alicia Bruno, by the arms. The captain of the company, an intimidating albino named Gilbert Beilschmidt, stared down at the Sage.

"People of Richmond," Gilbert announced, Heartian accent thick on his tongue, "this woman is accused of conspiring with the rebellion. We have brought her here to try her."

A loud booing sound rose from the square, shouts of "Long live the rebellion!" and "The light shine on America!" permeating throughout.

"She will be tried for treason!" Gilbert yelled, his voice above the crowd.

The people in the square fell silent. The captain smiled in success.

"We have a witness," he said calmly. One of the lieutenants stepped out of the crowd. Alfred didn't recognize him.

"Describe the events that brought you to file this accusation," Gilbert ordered.

The lieutenant nodded. Despite the distance, Alfred could tell that the man was glowing with pride. "I was in the library two hours ago. At this time, I heard the Sage speak about the rebellion. I didn't think anything of it until I heard her start talking about future attack plans. She even spoke of an invasion on the capital."

Gilbert nodded. "Alright." He turned to face the crowd. "Do you think this woman is guilty of conspiring with the rebels?"

No one said a word. If merely words could cause guilt, then they were all guilty. The silence was deafening.

"And do you think Sage Alicia is guilty of treason?"

At this there was an uproar, everybody with a voice denying him, screams announcing that their province was independent and thus could not commit treason, denials, oaths. Alfred yelled as loudly as any other in the crowd.

"Well, too bad!" Gilbert shouted over them. "She's guilty anyway, because I said so! Now either get back in line, forget about this rebellion of yours, and enjoy what freedoms Spades gives you, or lose all of them!"

For the second time, Gilbert effectively silenced the crowd. He also probably lost the rebellion a good number of members. Alfred had to admit, the man was a tactical mastermind. He was dangerous.

"The execution will be by hanging," Gilbert concluded. "It will take place at dawn tomorrow. Dismissed!"

The crowd obediently shuffled away, people quietly murmuring amongst themselves. Alfred looked around. People's expressions ranged from shock to sadness to fear. But no matter how hard Alfred looked, he could find no bravery.

It was time for him to give them some.

* * *

**AN: Wow hey look the plot is advancing. Does anybody have any guesses as to what Alfred's going to do next? I want to hear your theories!**

**Until tomorrow!**


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur looked up from the cutting board when he heard the front door slam. Matthew put down his knife and went to go see who it was. After a moment, Arthur followed.

Alfred stood in the doorway, plainly furious. "They're hanging her!" he shouted, his powerful voice resonating off the wall. "They're hanging the Sage, just for a couple of badly-placed words!"

"Calm down, Alfred," Matthew soothed, gently resting his hands on his brother's shoulders. "What's going on? Who's hanging her?"

Alfred chose that moment to notice Arthur's presence. He tore out of his twin's hands and pounded over to the soldier, jabbing an accusing finger at his chest. "Your people," he growled. "Your people are going to murder her, just to give an example."

Arthur blinked in surprise. "Th-the soldiers? They don't have that kind of authority!"

"That sure isn't stopping them, is it?" the taller man snarled. "She's going to be hung at dawn."

"I'm sorry. I'll - I'll try to stop it. You have my word," Arthur swore. He didn't know what good he could do, but he couldn't just do nothing. This wasn't right.

"You better stop it."

"I'll try. Look, I'll go right now." Arthur decided to keep his coat off - Spadean soldiers were obviously not popular right now - and left the house. As he walked down the street, he realized he was trembling, and not from his lack of coat. Alfred had been more than just intimidating. His azure eyes had been feral, wild, beast-like. Alfred's rage was blind.

He hurried down the street, feeling every pair of peasant's eyes on him. Richmond had suddenly become a dangerous place. Arthur was certain that he wouldn't get a pleasant conversation like the one he had had with the shopkeeper just an hour ago. Public places had become out-of-bounds.

Arthur was quickly admitted into Gilbert's study after knocking on the governor's door. "Permission to speak freely, sir," he requested.

Gilbert eyed him warily. "Permission...granted. But this better be good."

"That was a blasted fool thing to do. The entire town is in a rage. It has become dangerous for soldiers to go anywhere, hence my lack of coat. If anything, the people will only become more furious over time. Numbers of rebels should grow exponentially as a result. There will be open protests soon. You must call off the execution."

"Alright, kid, permission to speak freely revoked. Did you ever think that maybe that's exactly what I'm going for?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "I...I don't understand, sir. Are we supporting the rebellion now?"

Gilbert sighed. "This is why you're still a lieutenant. See, they're probably gonna start protesting in the streets soon. But if they do that, they'll need someone to lead them so that the rebels don't turn on themselves by accident. They'll show who their leaders are, and we'll arrest them. Once that's done, the rebellion will be fatally crippled. In one fell swoop, this town will be neutralized and we can move on to the next."

"I see, sir." Brilliant. Gilbert was a tactical genius. There were a lot of risks, but if all went according to plan...

"Good. Although, I do have to applaud your courage in bringing this up with me. You very well might save the company someday. Teal Company is lucky to have you. Dismissed."

Arthur left with an inner war within. From what he had heard Alfred say, the town's Sage was being hanged just for saying something. However, Gilbert had made it painfully clear that this execution was necessary. The turmoil within him didn't quiet as he approached Alfred and Matthew's door. If anything, it got louder. It was time to figure out where his loyalties lied.

After Arthur left, Alfred calmed down a bit. He remained furious, however, despite Matthew's best efforts to shush him. It wasn't fair. _People should be able to speak their mind without fear!_

"I'm still leaving tomorrow morning," he announced, "but I'm going to do something first."

"Ohhh no. You are not getting involved in this." Matthew crossed his arms. "You have a job to do. You're too important to the cause to just throw your life away."

"You don't even know what I'm going to do!"

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "We're brothers. I've known you my whole life. I know _exactly_ what you're going to do and let me tell you _right now_ that it's not going to work."

"It_ might_ work."

"It's not worth the risk."

"A person's life is at stake! It's really important!"

"You're more important!" Matthew shouted. "To the rebellion and to me. But mostly to me. You're my twin brother. We're the only family to we have left! I couldn't bear to lose you."

Alfred fell silent. Matthew had raised his voice. Matthew never raised his voice; not unless it was important.

"Okay," Alfred agreed sullenly. "I won't try a rescue mission. But I have to do something."

Matthew sighed. "I know. Just...just try to stay safe, okay?"

"I'll try my hardest," Alfred promised.

"You always do." Matthew gave his brother a brief hug and returned to the kitchen, probably to brew some tea for himself. Alfred plopped down on the sofa and stared at the ceiling while the sun slowly went down. So he wouldn't go on a rescue mission. _What I'll do instead might be even riskier,_ Alfred thought wryly. But he would try to stay safe. He had promised, and heroes didn't break promises.

Alfred didn't look up when Arthur came home. From his comfortable postion on the couch, he asked, "Did you convince the captain to release the Sage?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm sorry, Alfred. I tried."

Alfred didn't say anything. His resolve grew stronger.

Arthur sat down in an armchair near the sofa Alfred had claimed. He had a thoughtfull expression on his face. "So what's bothering you?" Alfred asked.

"What makes you think something's bothering me?"

"Intuition. C'mon. Spill the beans."

"You lied to me about not knowing of the rebellion."

It wasn't a question, nor was it an accusation. Alfred nodded. "I did."

"Why?"

"To find out what you knew."

"Rebel?"

"Yeah."

Alfred nodded slowly. Alfred could almost hear his brain processing the information.

"And what about you?" Arthur asked. "Anything on your mind?"

"The hanging."

"Right. How much of a member of the rebellion was she? And what did she say?"

"She was a pretty big supporter. She said that the rebellion would succeed and march on Spades to make them pay for their crimes against us." Alfred hated how they already used the past tense to refer to her.

Arthur's voice seemed startled. "Is it true, what she said?"

Alfred shifted his gaze from the ceiling to Arthur for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"Will the rebellion really march on Spades?"

Alfred shrugged. "I don't know, and if I did I wouldn't tell you."

"Fair enough."

"Why does Spades even care about us? It's not like you people buy anything from America."

"We sell things to you, though. No one else will buy from England Province. Diamonds hates us, Hearts doesn't want to get involved except for send occasional mercenaries, and Clubs is closed to trade."

"At the rate our economy's going, we won't be able to trade with you soon, either."

"I suppose that's true. The monarchy likes to turn a blind eye to problems."

"They sure didn't turn a blind eye to Boston," Alfred muttered. Though one layer of deception was lost, he could maintain the others.

"Righ. I heard about that. I'm sorry you were caught in that fire." Alfred was somewhat surprised to hear the sincerity in his voice.

"It's fine. Not your fault. It's been fifteen years. I ought to get over it by now."

There was silence for a moment. "Alfred," Arthur began, "do you know the Nighteagle? Personally?"

Alfred suppressed the instant fear. "I'm not answering that. I know you're hunting him."

"This doesn't have to do with that. I want to know what he's like."

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?" Alfred asked incredulously.

"Well...yes."

Azure eyes met verdant ones. Alfred read them like a book, reading between the sinuous lines of green. He found honesty. A rare trait.

"Alright. Fine. I'll tell you a little about him. But I'll only answer yes or no questions."

"Erm... Well, is he as cold-hearted as everything thinks?" Arthur began.

"No."

"Does he enjoy what he does?"

"No."

"Is he arrogant?"

"No."

"Does he _act_ arrogantly?"

"Yes."

"Hmm..." A thoughtful expression flashed across Arthur's face, signaling dishonesty in his original statement. Arthur was a far better liar than he let on. Dangerous.

"Okay, questions over," Alfred announced, standing up. "I'm going to sleep." He walked up the stairs, but entered Matthew's room instead of his own. He would wait here for his brother. It was time to make his escape.


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur stayed awake far after Alfred and Matthew retired. He lay in the sofa where Alfred had been, pondering the answers he had gotten out of the American. It would seem that the younger man knew the Nighteagle very well. Alfred could turn into a valuable mine of information. Arthur just had to make sure the mineshaft didn't collapse on him. Alfred was dangerous; that much, Arthur knew.

And then there were the answers themselves. When they had first met, Alfred described the Nighteagle as heartless, but his current answer disproved that. Arthur could only assume that feigning ignorance about the Nighteagle's personality was part of his cover. Yes, this man was certainly dangerous.

Arthur was interrupted from his musings by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The lieutenant looked up to see Alfred with a satchel slung acros his chest. "Going somewhere?" he asked.

"This is my house. I can come and go as I please."

"Just wondering."

Alfred sighed. "If you must know, I'm going to other villages aligned with the rebellion to tell them about Teal Company's tactics in dealing with us."

Arthur nodded. "That's understandable. Will you come back?"

"So that you can turn me in? I don't think so."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to turn you in, you dolt. Maybe I'll just miss your bloody personality. Did you ever think of that?"

Alfred snorted. "Right. See ya. Or not."

"Good luck, I suppose."

Alfred left the house. Arthur watched through the window as he retrieved his horse from the tavern and trotted out of town. With a pang, Arthur realized that he really would miss the American. There was just something about him that drew the soldier towards him.

Arthur decided to get some rest. If he knew anything about Gilbert, he certainly knew that the Heartian loved publicity. He would probably send soldiers from house to house, rousing people to watch the execution.

Arthur slept fitfully. He missed the warmth Alfred had radiated, missed the man's tossing and turning, even missed his damn snoring. Without all of that, the night seemed...empty. Lonely. Dark and scary, merciless and cold. The night was not young. It was never young. It was old, older than thunder, older than the day itself. The night watched over all.

It watched over Arthur when he was woken by knocking at the door. Arthur hastily threw his uniform on and rushed out before Matthew had even had a chance to fully open his bedroom door. Gilbert wouldn't want one of his officers to be late.

In the square was the gallows, grim and menacing, awaiting its next prey. Arthur repressed a shudder as the noose swung back and forth, back and forth, as though eager to snare a victim. A sense of horror washed over the soldier.

He took his place beside the captain, who was standing at a podium opposite the gallows. People began to pour into the square, their faces grim. They didn't want to watch this, but they didn't want to be arrested, either.

Once the town square was nearly full, a pair of soldiers led Sage Alicia out before Gilbert. The librarian held her head high, her old, wrinkled face unafraid in the face of death.

"Any last words, Sage?" Gilbert asked. The woman did not respond. "No pleas for freedom? No begging to be spared?"

Out of the silence of the crowd, a lone voice shouted, "She's a mute, you prick!" Gilbert grinned.

"Well, that just makes my job easier. Take her up!"

The soldiers walked the Sage to the gallows, but with her proud march, it seemed almost as though she were leading them. Up the steps she walked, never stumbling, not a single gray hair out of place. Her back was straight when she stood on the platform and the soldiers lowered the noose around her neck.

A black-fletched arrow whizzed from behind Arthur. He and Gilbert spun around only to watch another arrow fly at them and embed itself into Gilbert's left eye. The captain fell over. Arthur drew his sword to face the attacker.

Out on the bluff where Arthur had first seen the village, the archer sat on horseback, clad all in black. A hood covered his head, and a bandana hid everything but his eyes. His eyes, oh, light, his eyes. Azure met verdant. Azure narrowed while verdant widened.

"No," Arthur whispered. "It can't be."

The Nighteagle turned his horse and galloped away, leaving Richmond behind. Arthur watched him, still in shock. He vaguely registered someone helping Gilbert stand, heard the captain order the hanging to proceed as if in a dream.

Someone shook him. He turned to face Gilbert, who had pulled the arrow out of his eye socket, the red eyeball still speared on the bolt. The captain ripped off a note tied to the shaft and held it up to Arthur's face. The words, written in a scrawled hand above the Nighteagle's calling card, made Arthur's blood run cold.

_EXPECT ME._

_That was sloppy,_ Alfred thought as his horse galloped onward. _That was really, really sloppy. Arthur definitely recognized me. I hope Matthew got my note in time._ If all went well, Matthew would be on his way to a nearby city. Arthur wouldn't be able to arrest him for conspiracy.

When Alfred reached a clearing in the woods surrounding Richmond, he stopped. he slid off his horse and set up camp, lighting lanterns and hanging them on branches of nearby trees. A fairy-light camp, it was called. Back in the early days of Spades, when people still believed in magic, soldiers and hunters would set up camps in this way. Legend said that the lanterns attracted fairies of light that would fight off evil spirits while you slept.

Alfred reclined against a tree, watching the sun rise on the misty morning. The light haze made the forest seem ethereal and otherworldly, giving the trees a kind, mysterious nature. Songbirds took up their craft, flitting from branch to branch and calling to each other. Alfred whistled along with their tune. Life went on.

Alfred's hand shot to his bow when he heard movement. The sound of footsteps - many footsteps - thundered in his ears. Someone had given him away. He stood up and nocked an arrow.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw who it was. Members of the rebellion, led by Steve, were heading toward him and his fairy-light camp, cloth sacks tied to their belts. Adrenaline surged through Alfred's veins. _This is it. We're finally going to fight. We're finally staging a revolution. This is what I've been waiting for my entire life._

"Hey, guys!" he greeted as they approached. "We're finally doing this, right?"

"That's right," Steve answered.

"And I'm gonna be your valiant leader, right?"

Steve suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Well, uh, not...not quite."

Alfred frowned, all the laughter leaving his face. "What do you mean, not quite?"

"Alfred, you're a great leader and an even better assassin, but you're...you're...you're just-"

"What he's trying to say," the local blacksmith, Tony, interrupted, "is that you're too volatile. Like me. So you're going to be the figurehead. The real leader is going to be Pat."

Pat stepped forward. He was a tall, red-headed man, even taller than Alfred, but he had a very gentle nature. "You'll motivate the people," he said in his quiet voice. "I'm just working behind the scenes to make plans."

Alfred felt a huge, festering pit within him. His dream had been to lead the revolution and bring his people to freedom. He had worked every day of his life to achieve that dream, improving upon himself and training for hours, taking the jobs no one else would take in order to prove himself. He felt betrayed. So horribly betrayed.

But he wouldn't endanger the cause just because he was upset. Alfred would prove to them that he was not volatile, that he was a far better leader and strategist then Pat could ever dream of being. He would show them all that he deserved to be their leader.

Alfred kept his face composed as he extended a hand to Pat. "I look forward to working with you." Pat took his hand and shook it. Steve and Tony exchanged looks.

"So, what do we do first?" the assassin asked.

"First? Uh... Well, right now our numbers are too low to do anything. We should send out messengers to gather rebels from other villages. People should also start mass-produced uniforms." Pat looked around uncertainly. "Uh, I guess... Maybe you could pick who does what?"

Alfred nodded. "You got it." He raised his voice. "Listen up! We've got some important stuff to do to get this revolution off the ground! Now who here is ready to fight the Spadean soldiers?" A loud cheer rose up from the crowd of rebels. "Your enthusiasm is great! But let's face it. We have no weapons, no training, no uniforms. We're hopelessly outnumbered right now. So here's the plan to change that!"

"Cauthon family," he said, referring to the family of horse traders, "take your best horses and send word to the other villages. Gather as many rebels as you can and bring them here. Carpenters, build some shelter for when the newcomers arrive. Traders, get as much good steel as you can. Get to working on making weapons and armor as soon as you can, Tony. Anyone who knows how to sew is making uniforms. Anyone who can make arrows, start a construction line and get to mass producing. Anyone who can't do any of that will alternate between hunting, going down to town for news, and training with Steve. Got it?"

The roar of agreement was thunderous. Alfred grinned. "Get to it!"

Everyone dispersed to their given tasks. Pat watched carefully. "You're good at this," he commented. "Really good at this."

"I've had practice. You'll learn." Alfred smiled internally. It seemed that he wouldn't be the figurehead, after all.

* * *

**AN: Guyssssss you aren't reviewing and I don't know if I'm doing something wrong! Alerts and favorites are great, but it doesn't help tell me what I'm doing wrong or what you really like about the story. I want to improve this thing as much as I can!**

**In other news, my hands are totally ripped up from rowing. It's getting difficult to type and hold a pen. Wish me luck.**


	8. Chapter 8

"So what you're telling me is that this Alfred kid you've been quartering with is the Nighteagle?" Gilbert asked, pacing back and forth. He only looked more intimidating because of his new eyepatch.

"Well, he's not exactly a kid, but yes."

"And you're absolutely sure about this?"

Arthur knew he couldn't be wrong. He would recognize those eyes anywhere, now. "Positive, sir."

Gilbert sat down at his desk, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Alfred has a brother, right?" he asked slowly.

"Yes, sir."

"Arrest him. Arrest him right now."

Arthur's eyes widened. "What? But for what cause?'

"Publicly, conspiracy. But privately, information and ransom."

"Is this really legal, sir?" the lieutenant asked weakly.

"Probably not. But a war is brewing, and there ain't any laws in war. Besides, if we don't take control of this quickly, we'll have a problem. If we're in control, though, this could prove to be extremely useful."

"...I understand, sir." A little ball of nervousness formed in the pit of his stomach.

"Good. Now get to it. Dismissed."

Arthur ducked out of the governor's house. He walked down the street, muscles tense. The wind blew his hair into disarray, chilling him despite his red coat wrapping him.

Arthur swallowed his nerves and knocked on Matthew's door. He didn't want to do this. He really didn't want to do this._ Alfred is the criminal, not Matthew! Oh, light, what is Gilbert going to do with him?_

Matthew opened the door, a piece of paper crumpled in his hand. He didn't look at all surprised. "You're here to arrest me."

"Yes." Arthur sighed. "I don't want to, but I must."

"I understand. I'll come quietly."

Arthur led Matthew down the street, returning to the governor's house. "Just tell him whatever he wants to hear," he urged quietly. "I don't know what he'll do to you, but..."

Matthew nodded, and Arthur noticed that, though he tried to keep a brave face, the Nighteagle's brother had paled considerably. Arthur felt a deep hatred as he opened the door. A deep hatred for this thing he was a part of. This "revolution". This terrible, foolish rebellion had to be stopped before more people died.

As Arthur led Matthew to Gilbert's study, he vowed to himself that he would do anything to stop this revolution. Anything.

Steve and Tony had been forced to restrain him, using all of their combined strength to keep Alfred from breaking free of their grip and running down into Richmond to save Matthew. After an hour, though, with no sign of Matthew coming out of the governor's house, Alfred collapsed in exhaustion. His friends tried to comfort him, but he pushed them away. The two of them left him alone on the bluff. He heard one of them mutter "volatile" as they walked away.

Alfred hadn't seen who it was that had led Matthew away. He had been too busy struggling in vain to escape from his friends' grasp to notice. But he vowed to find out. Find out and make them pay.

He knew exactly how the soldiers found out that Alfred was the Nighteagle, though. _Arthur._ How Alfred wanted to make him pay, as well. But at the same time, he didn't. Arthur had seemed...different. Alfred couldn't quite figure out why he felt that way, but he did.

Alfred didn't move for a long time. The sun had begun to set, and still he didn't so much as twitch his nose. He felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally. His brother, his twin, his very own flesh and blood had been captured and was probably being tortured right at this very second. And what could he do? Nothing.

"Alfred."

The American turned his head to face Steve. "What do you want?"

"You need to stop this. Right now. You have people depending on you."

"I know. I'm just... I..." Alfred sighed. "I don't know."

"You need to pull yourself together. Everybody in this revolution needs a hero. There's no one better at being a hero than you."

"Except for you," Alfred argued. He added resentfully, "And, apparently, Pat."

"Don't be like this, Alfred. Pat is emotionally stable, something you are not. But Pat isn't a hero. That's what you are. There really is no one better than you. Not even me." Steve turned to leave. "Come back to camp when you're up to being our hero again."

Alfred sat in silence for a little while longer, pondering what Steve had said. So Pat was supposed to be a foil to him, huh? Alfred wasn't happy with that. _Pat's nice and all, but he's too cowardly. If Steve wants a foil for me, he'll need to find someone who isn't afraid to speak their mind to my face._

Alfred stood up and started making his way back to camp. They would have to get ready. It was only a matter of time until the soldiers noticed that most of the houses were empty. Still, Alfred couldn't help but feel horribly empty inside.

* * *

**AN: Wow, guys, you actually jumped in and reviewed when I asked. I just want to say that you are all perfect human beings and you all deserve the very best in the world and if you ever need to talk to somebody you can always talk to me. If there isn't anyone else on the planet who doesn't think you're a perfect person, you've got me to remind you that yes, you are, in fact, completely perfect. I actually love all of you.**

**Okay, getting down to business. Next chapter, there's going to be Alfred...but there isn't going to be Alfred. Chew on that for a little while. Also, I have a regatta tomorrow (Row for Autism race! Yay!), so I might not be able to upload a chapter. If I think I can't get it in tomorrow, I'll upload another chapter later today. So, yeah. Wish me luck in my rowing adventures, guys! I'm really gonna need it; my hands are still ripped up... :D**


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur nervously waited outside the office door. For once, Gilbert had summoned him, rather than wait for Arthur to report with valuable information. The lieutenant had received a note from a messenger to come as quickly as possible. And so here he was.

Arthur hadn't seen Matthew since he had been arrested yesterday. He worried about him, especially since Arthur had heard unearthly screaming in the night. He hoped that this visit had nothing to do with Matthew.

The door was suddenly opened from within. "Good," Gilbert's gruff voice said. "You're here." He motioned for Arthur to enter, closing the door behind him.

"How's your eye, sir?" Arthur asked.

"Speared on a bolt. And the socket hurts like fuck." Gilbert crossed his arms. "I didn't summon you here to talk about my health."

"Sorry, sir."

"I've got a mission for you. An espionage mission. It's super important, so don't fuck it up. You know how the town's been kind of empty recently?" Gilbert waited for Arthur to nod before continuing. "They're starting up their little revolution thing. We have to stop them before they get cocky and do something that might actually get them a victory. You quartered with the Nighteagle. He knows you. He might even trust you if you go over to him and say you defected. Sources say that he's the leader of the rebellion. Get as close to him as possible by any means necessary. Report anything you find out - especially stuff about battle plans and strategies - via paper boats going down the stream."

"Yes, sir. But, ah, where is their camp, sir?"

"We've extracted the information from Nighteagle's brother."

_So that's what the screams were,_ Arthur thought.

"The rebel camp is north, in a clearing past the bluff. You got all that, lieutenant?"

Arthur nodded. "Understood."

"Alright. Take your horse and get out. Try to look like you're actually defecting. The rebels might be watching us. Dismissed."

Arthur quickly left, grabbing his stallion from the tavern stable. He tried to look as furtive and guilty as possible as he galloped away.

When he reached the forest, he slowed down. Arthur felt as though he was being watched, and he probably was, truthfully. The rebels could have scouts anywhere. He suddenly realized that any one of them could put a bolt in his head without flinching. The thought gave him chills.

Arthur frowned when he saw an area up ahead that looked as though it was brighter than the rest of the forest. When he saw cloth tents and several hastily-constructed barns, he realized it was the rebel clearing, set up as a fairy-light camp. How had no scout noticed him yet?

When his horse trotted into the clearing, he found out that he had, in fact, been noticed. Every man, woman, and child in the clearing had a bow trained on him. Alfred sat on his horse dressed in his Nighteagle gear, frowning. A tall, heavyset man was mounted beside him.

Before anyone could say anything, Arthur raised his hands in surrender. HIs heart was pounding in his chest, sending adrenaline through his body, but he kept his voice steady. "Don't shoot. I've defected. I...I want to join your cause."

"How do we know this isn't a trap?" the unfamiliar man next to Alfred asked.

"You don't. But I can give you information. Maybe that will prove that I am loyal to the rebellion."

Alfred whispered something into the tall man's ear, then said aloud, "Stand down." He dismounted and motioned for Arthur to do the same as the rebels lowered their bows. "Follow me."

Arthur trailed behind Alfred, entering the tent the American led him into. "I had a feeling you were different, Arthur," Alfred said after the burlap surrounded them. "A gut feeling, granted. But it was right."

Arthur nodded. A twisted, guilty knot gnawed at him from within. Alfred just looked so...trusting. Arthur forced himself not to believe that naive face, though. Alfred was a dangerous man wrapped in deception. The day Arthur forgot that would be the day he died.

"So you said you have information."

"I do." Arthur paused for a moment, deciding what he was comfortable with revealing. "Captain Beilschmidt isn't dead."

"I know," Alfred replied. "Killing him was never my intention."

"They have your brother."

"I know that, too."

"Did you know that they're torturing him? That's how I found out where your camp is. He confessed a lot of information. That's why I left. I couldn't bear the knowledge, the screaming."

Alfred swallowed visibly. "I didn't know that."

Arthur put a hand on Alfred's arm. "He is very brave, Alfred."

Alfred looked away. "He's my younger brother. I'm supposed to take care of him."

Arthur sensed that the other man was taking down his defenses. The lieutenant would remain wary, but he could possibly exploit this sudden weak point in order to gain the rebel's trust.

"There was nothing you could've done."

Alfred glared at him. "I am so tired of hearing that from everyone! I should've done something anyway! I've failed him!"

"You have not failed him," Arthur said sternly. "You will only fail him when he dies. I will do everything in my power to help you get him back before that happens."

Alfred's eyes softened. "You...You would do that for Matthew?"

"For Matthew." Arthur moved his hand from Alfred's arm to his cheek. "And for you."

Gilbert's words echoed in Arthur's head. _By any means necessary._

The darkness was forgiving. The darkness did not twist knives into his flesh, burn him with coals, or pour salt on his wounds. The darkness was a blessing, because in the darkness he was alone. And when he was alone, he was not being tortured.

Perhaps Gilbert thought loneliness was a form of torture, but Matthew embraced it. He liked being alone. Too many people around him made Matthew uncomfortable. He was an introvert, an opposite to his twin's extroverted personality. And alone was how he liked it. Especially now.

The only problem with the darkness was that there was nothing to distract him from the pain of his wounds. The lacerations stung horribly. _This is better than getting new cuts, though,_ Matthew thought wryly.

In the beginning he had tried to remain passive-aggressive. He had broken quickly, crying and screaming whatever his torturers wanted. It made him sick. But Matthew couldn't fight it. He could only hope the darkness would last a little longer.

Matthew hoped the information he had divulged didn't hurt the revolution. He couldn't remember what he had admitted to and what he had been able to hold back. No matter what he had said, though, it was already too much. Above all else, he hoped that Alfred kept a clear head and watched out for knew that Alfred was tumbling between rage and depression as a result of Matthew's disappearance, that he was walking along a thin line of clear-headedness. If his emotions blinded him, he would walk right into something that would hurt him so much, Alfred wouldn't be able to see straight.

"Where are you, Alfred?" Matthew muttered. The darkness did not answer him, as it was in darkness's nature to be silent and still. Matthew sighed. Being alone was fun and all, but he didn't mind company every once in a while.

His dreams and nightmares were answered. A beam of light fell on the trembling man as the door opened.

* * *

**AN: Guys oh my god this regatta just really killed me and I'm exhausted. But, as promised, here's your chapter! Yay! Now I'm gonna go play Skyrim until I collapse of exhaustion. By the way, the "collapsing of exhaustion" really isn't that far off right now. See ya tomorrow.**


	10. Chapter 10

Over the course of the next few days, Arthur taught the rebels basic Spadean war tactics and nurtured his friendship with Alfred. The rebel leader's defenses were obviously down; he spoke freely with Arthur. The spy, meanwhile, made sure to plant hints that he wanted something more than friendship. When Alfred picked up on these, he turned a deep scarlet and stammered from the rest of the conversation.

Today, the morning was chilly. Arthur sat outside his tent wrapped in a blanket, sipping a mug of hot tea. Dew covered the soft blades of grass, reflecting the light of the sunrise. Arthur smiled lightly at the beauty of the day and the gentleness of the powerful sun.

"What's got you in a good mood?" Alfred asked as he sat down beside Arthur.

"A number of things," the "former" lieutenant replied carefully.

"Like what?"

"The morning. The dewdrops. The sun." Arthur paused for a moment, watching Alfred carefully. "Though even the sun cannot outshine you."

Right on cue, the assassin reddened, ducking his head so his eyes would not meet Arthur's. "Oh. That's..." Alfred drew a shaky breath. "H-hey, listen, are you, y'know, being serious? L-like, this isn't a joke?"

Arthur put his tea down and scooted closer, resting his hand on Alfred's. "Of course it's not a joke," he said quietly. This wasn't exactly false. It wasn't a joke; it was a lie.

Alfred looked at Arthur out of the corner of his eye. "Oh. Uh. That's, wow. I mean, uh..." Alfred sighed. "I didn't expect that. I never expected anybody to see me like this. You know, as a human being. I've always been either up on this unreachable pedestal of heroicness or treated as a beast that could snap at any time. The only people who ever saw me as a real person, with thoughts and feelings and hopes and dreams, were Matthew and Steve. This is...new."

"Hopefully new in a good way?"

Alfred laughed, a rich, warm sound. "Yeah. Really good." He gave Arthur a tentative smile. The soldier responded by twining his fingers with Alfred's.

Alfred sighed, but it wasn't a sigh of exhaustion or exasperation. It was a content sigh, a little escaping of breath that said, "Ah, yes, this is nice. Today is nice. Everything is very nice." Arthur gave him a warm smile, but internally he grinned maniacally. He had never expected Alfred to be so easy to manipulate. This rebellion would fall like a house of cards in a hurricane.

With his free hand, Arthur lifted his cup of tea and held it out to Alfred. "Would you like a sip? The morning is cold, and this tea is quite warm." Alfred sniffed the drink.

"...I guess I'll have some," Alfred conceded. He took the cup from Arthur and hesitantly sipped.

"How is it?"

"Warm."

Arthur gently swatted Alfred's shoulder. "The taste, git. What does it taste like?"

"It's okay."

"That's good enough for me." Arthur leaned against Alfred, resting his head in the crook of the taller man's neck. He smiled as he watched Alfred continue to drink the tea. So quickly wrapped around my finger, Arthur thought. A beast so easily manipulated is called, I believe, tame.

Alfred buzzed around the camp in contentment, his heart soaring in the sky, a feather on the wind. He hummed while helping people sew uniforms, skipped between the blacksmiths at the forge, and danced while training with his future soldiers. The morning replayed in his mind, sending endorphins shooting through his bloodstream. Tea had never tasted so good.

His elation was infectious. All around the camp, people laughed as they worked, some even singing old folk songs. To Alfred, their voices sounded sweeter than the songbirds themselves. True joy among his people. This was something he had not seen in a long time.

Still, he had important work to do, between dancing and singing. He oversaw everything in the camp, and he had important news coming from some trusted sources. His spies down in the village had intercepted a Spadean messenger that bore a report of something that could either change the tides in the rebellion's favor or damn them to a terrible, bloody defeat. If this news did not get to the right people, the war would be over before it had ever even hoped to begin.

Alfred flitted between the throng of people into the forge. The rhythmic pounding of hammers was its own class of music, the swirling smoke its own art. The forge created art of war and art of the senses. A remarkable place, but Alfred did not have the patience to master its craft.

"How're the swords looking?" Alfred questioned. "They look pretty damn fine to me."

"Well, they're as good as they're going to get in this tiny little forge," Tony replied.

"Oh, stuff it, Tony. This isn't the fucking Skyforge," a woman shouted from somewhere within. Alfred briefly remembered that Tony had once been a master blacksmith at the Royal Spadean Forge, better known among the people as Skyforge.

"Speaking of Skyforge," Alfred said cheerfully, "sources tell me that a shipment of skysteel is coming down from the capitol to Teal Company."

Alfred was met with blank stares. "How is this a good thing?" one of the motley blacksmiths asked.

"Because we're going to intercept it, of course!"

"It's going to be damn hard to do that," Tony pointed out. "Probably worth every drop of blood we shed, but still. And even if we manage to get that skysteel, the weapons we'll make from them will only be a shadow of what they would be made in the Skyforge."

"It'll still outclass common steel by far," Alfred argued. "It's a distinct advantage."

"It raises a couple of questions." Tony's hand stroked his beard, deep in thought. "Why would the capitol send raw skysteel instead of weapons forged already in Skyforge? Unless the soldiers have managed to build a huge forge like that one, their weapons will be just as pitiful as the ones we would make. Are you sure this isn't a trap?"

"I'm sure," Alfred confirmed. "I got it from a reliable source. You're right, though. We should send scouts to find the convoy and get more information. I'll work on getting some scouts. Good work, everybody."

Alfred left the forge and saw Arthur passing by. He immediately changed course to go toward him. Only a week ago he had been diving into alleys to avoid the man. Now he went towards him eagerly.

"So, what did you do today?" Alfred asked.

"I visited the stream today. It's very peaceful there. Does it have a name, by any chance?"

Alfred nodded. "It's called the Cloudwater River. It comes from the Cloudscrape Mountains at the border of America and Spades."

"I see." Arthur moved closer so that their sides were almost touching as they walked. Alfred took this as an invitation to interlace the fingers of their hands. After he did so, Arthur gave Alfred such a warm smile that his heart almost melted. Being treated as a human was so...relaxing. It was relief, the calm after the storm of people pretending Alfred was more than the sum of his parts, better than others, and more dangerous because of it.

Perhaps Alfred was dangerous. But he would suppress the beast inside him, for Arthur if not for anyone else.

* * *

**AN: Hey, guys. Sorry for my one-day hiatus! I was really tired after my regatta, even a day later, and I recently got Skyrim (FINALLY) so I was obsessing over it. I'm still obsessing over it, actually, but I do have time to update my favorite fic. Hope you guys like this chapter!**


	11. Chapter 11

The next day was warm, a soft embrace of spring after an unforgiving winter. Arthur had not seen Alfred all day, however, and that spoiled his good mood. If Arthur didn't know where Alfred was, he couldn't spy on him.

The logical decision, of course, was to check Alfred's tent. Arthur stepped into the little canvas enclosure, casting his eye over its contents. A small table, two chairs, a candle, a bedroll - and a note. Closer inspection revealed that the note was addressed to him. Arthur broke the wax seal, glancing over its contents.

_Arthur,_

_Sorry, but we can't hang out today! I've got some important Nighteagle business. There's a shipment of skysteel coming down to Richmond soon. I'm going to scout its trail and make sure it's not too heavily guarded. I should be back before dusk. Make sure that everything stays on schedule! Tomorrow's gonna be a big day for the rebellion. Thanks!_

_- Alfred_

Arthur grinned. He was astounded at how easily the assassin fell into traps. Wasn't he supposed to be trained to look out for these things? _He's probably shaken because his brother was captured,_ Arthur mused._ Although he seems like a naturally trusting person. He's not really cut out for this kind of work._

Arthur grabbed a piece of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell from beside the bedroll and sat down at the table. He dipped the quill into the dark liquid, letting the excess drip back into the little bottle before beginning his missive. A small frown covered his face; he had become used to the luxury of paper from China Province. Parchment seemed so...uncivilized.

Once the report was finished, he reclined in his chair and waited for the ink to dry. From outside the tent, he could hear the songs of working rebels. Their determination was admirable. They would make good laborers for Spades when this war was over.

There was a conversation just outside the entrance of the tent. Arthur listened carefully, slowing his breathing so he would not be detected. Getting caught in Alfred's tent with this note would ruin everything he had worked for. And land him an execution besides.

"I don't trust him," Arthur heard Tony say. "Alfred's judgement is impaired. He shouldn't be so trusting of this so-called defector."

"Your judgement is impaired all the time, Tony," Steve replied. "Although I agree that this seems a little sketchy. I truly think Alfred knows what he's doing, though. Arthur's been teaching us enemy tactics, after all. It gives us a huge advantage over the Spadean soldiers."

"Or he could be feeding us bullshit."

"Language, Tony. He could be, but I don't think so. I've seen Spadean soldiers in action before. Arthur's information matches up with what I've seen."

"Humph."

"Oh, do you know when the rebels from other towns get here?"

"I haven't gotten any pigeons yet. It can't be long, though."

"The barns have a few floors already, so we should be ready for them when they arrive. We'll have to send more men out hunting..."

The voices faded. Arthur breathed again.

So they doubted his loyalty, huh? Observant of them. He would have to prove that he was firmly on the side of the rebellion. He needed a scapegoat.

An idea formed. Arthur knew how to remove suspicion from himself and cripple the rebellion in one go. No one would see it coming, least of all the loudmouth blacksmith.

The soldiers were lazy pigs. They didn't pay any attention to the caravan they were supposed to be guarding. As a result, Alfred found it easy to jump from a ree branch onto the top of the covered wagon without being seen.

He rode along for a while, enjoying the light breeze, until he decided it was time to get the work. Alfred crept along the cloth, keeping his movements quiet, and dropped into the inside of the caravan.

He was not greeted with raw skysteel ore, but he was greeted by skysteel blades. At least twenty of them, all drawn, and all being wielded by Spadean soldiers. They looked surprised, though; it seemed that the trap should've been sprung by a raiding group rather than a long assassin. It didn't matter. They converged upon him.

Alfred leaped out of the caravan. The soldiers poured out after him, shouting. The Nighteagle drew his dual daggers grimly, determined to win. The steel wouldn't last long against the weapons of the gods, but he would make it last long enough. He dodged the soldiers' swings, ducking and jumping, blocking often and stabbing when he could. Two soldiers went down. Alfred spun, a whirlwind of blades and cold concentration, a void in which a flame consumed everything but the battle. Down fell a soldier. After a parry, another joined his comrade. Slash, jump, duck, repeat. Over and over, a vicious cycle that bit and tore at flesh. Alfred could not be stopped. He would win. He would come out on top, just like he always did -

A sword caught him, sinking into his left shoulder. Alfred went down with a cry of pain, the sword lodged between his bones.

"Well, well. What do we have here? It seems we shot down an eagle, boys!" one of the soldiers taunted. His jibe was met with laughter. Whoever held the sword protruding from Alfred twisted the blade sharply. Alfred cried out in pain, red haze fogging his vision as laughter and blood spilled around him.

"You've finally been caught, Nighteagle. Not so high and mighty now, are ya?" Alfred didn't reply. He was breathing hard, pain shooting up his nerves every time he inhaled. "Tie him up, Malborn. This is quite a pretty prize we've caught. Wouldn't want it getting away."

The sword was pulled out of Alfred's shoulder. The second it was gone, the Nighteagle leaped up and slashed with his remaining dagger. The soldiers jumped in surprise and drew their swords, but by then Alfred was gone, running through the trees in what he hoped was the general direction of the camp. He ran rhythmically, heart pounded. However, he couldn't sustain this pace very long, not with a gaping hole in his shoulder. Blood oozed down from his wound, and after just ten minutes of running, he collapsed. His blood pooled around him, spilling away his life. Alfred's shoulder burned, burned as though the sun was setting into it. He needed medical attention. He needed Matthew.

He needed Arthur. Alfred desperately wanted the other man to be there, right at that very second, to yell at him, tell him not to give up, hold his hand when it became too difficult, to _be there_. He imagined the England Provincianer's voice, shouting for him to crawl his way back to camp if he had to. Alfred's right hand extended, gripped a rock, pulled him a few inches forward. Again. Extend, grab, pull. Again. With painful slowness, he continued until the sun went down. At that point, he could go on no more. He stilled and his breathing slowed. There was silence.

Gilbert had always had trouble seeing. He needed to squint in bright light, causing him to wear a scowl and look far more intimidating than he really was. It was because he was an albino, because he had no iris pigment to block light, that he had to do this, but he cursed the gods anyway. He cursed another name now, though. _Alfred F. Jones,_ for putting out his right eye and making his life _that much harder._

There was still something to cheer him, though. As the night fell, a messenger brought a report to him from the river. Arthur had placed himself in a circle of people that provided exactly the information that Gilbert needed. The albino squinted as he read the slanted, angular writing.

_Captain Beilschmidt,_

_I have good news. Alfred believes that a shipment of skysteel is arriving. He has gone to make sure the shipment is en route. I am certain that he will lead a raid party and be taken off guard by the true contents of the wagon in the near future. I will continue to listen for new information._

_Your faithful lieutenant,_

_Arthur Kirkland_

Good news. Very good news. This plan, suggested to him by one of his superiors, might actually work. It wasn't that he thought Colonel Wang's plan wouldn't be successful. It just wasn't Gilbert's style. Too much risk, not enough glory.

The captain stood up. Nightfall. It was time to visit his prisoner. He walked into the darkness of the basement, where the Nighteagle's brother waited. The basement was kept dark to give it an oppressive feel as well as to help Gilbert see what he was doing. He wouldn't want to accidentally kill Matthew. That kind of messed up the whole concept of torture, was completely unprofessional, and decidedly un-awesome.

"Hey, birdie. Ready to talk?" Gilbert ran his hand over the tray of tools, settling on a jagged knife. He had to admit, Matthew was stronger than he looked. He didn't crack easily.

"Yeah. I-I'll talk."

Gilbert blinked in surprise. This was new. But it was very good. "Alright. Where shall we start?"

"Anywhere. I don't care anymore. Just- Just no more pain."

Gilbert grinned, his scarlet eyes flashing in what little light the basement contained. He looked like death itself, and that was just the way he liked it.

"Tell me everything."

* * *

**AN: Sorry for this update being rather late in the day. I've had a looooooooong practice today (fucking land workouts) and I'm really tired. Also Skyrim. I just - can't - stop - PLAYING. So anyway, the theme of this update was lots of letters? That's kind of how it turned out. Ah, well. Next chapter will be lots of fun. And by fun I mean pain.**


	12. Chapter 12

The sun was going up, and yet there was still no sign of Alfred. Arthur was beginning to get worried, and honestly, it wasn't just because his source of information was missing. It was also because his friend was missing.

Arthur needed to find him. He got his horse and quietly led it out of camp. No one saw him, as far as he knew. Arthur mounted as soon as he was out of earshot and rode toward the path the caravan should be taking. There was silence as his stallion galloped, the sounds of hoofsteps and night creatures all around in the dim light of morning. Peaceful was a good way to describe the scene. Serene incarnate. But within, Arthur felt a turmoil of worry.

A soft groan alerted Arthur that someone was near. Someone injured."Alfred?" Arthur called quietly. He was met with a low moan. The soldier cast his eyes around, looking for the source of the noise. He looked down and gasped.

Alfred lay face down in a pool of blood. His shoulder held a gaping hole that showed bone. THe American was barely breathing, the rising and falling of his body only just visible.

Arthur leaped off his horse and rushed to the fallen man. "Light, what happened to you?" he muttered. He didn't have the supplies to treat this. But moving Alfred very well might kill him. _But I can't just wait for him to bleed out and die!_

"Arthur? S'that you?" Alfred asked weakly. His voice was muffled.

"Yes, it's me. Hold on. I'll get you home." Arthur made his decision. He could not let this man die. He gently lifted Alfred up, surprised at how light he was. Too light for his size. He's lost a lot of blood.

"Alfred, you're going to need to do something for me. You need to put your arms around the horse and pull into the saddle. Can you do that?"

"'Course I can do it." Alfred hugged the horse, making a feeble effort to pull onto its back. He nearly fell twice, only managing to make it thanks to Arthur's help.

When that was done, Arthur grabbed the horse's reins and led it forward. Alfred was producing a harrowing rattling sound now, his eyes closed, masking his pain. This continued for the whole journey under the slowly rising sun, the only indication that the American still lived.

As soon as they entered the encampment, they were greeted by Steve and Tony asking where they had been and, after they saw the condition Alfred was in, what had happened. Arhtur just insisted that Alfred needed a medic immediately and refused to say anything more until the assassin was taken away by a small team of doctors.

"Alright," Tony said. "Alfred's going to be treated. Start explaining."

"Alfred was scouting the caravan carrying skysteel. He left me a note saying he would be back by dusk. I don't know what happened, but he didn't come back. I got worried and went to look for him. I found him like that."

Steve nodded. "We'll have to talk to him about it when he feels better."

"I don't suppose I could visit Alfred?" Arthur asked anxiously.

"Once he's been treated," Tony replied. Arthur nodded.

"Understandable."

Steve and Tony walked away, talking quietly to each other. Arthur sat in front of Alfred's tent, waiting until he could visit its owner.

Alfred drifted in and out of consciousness while he was being treated. He couldn't feel anything, though; he had probably been given some kind of anesthetic. Thank the light for China Province's many wonderful creations.

At some point, Alfred awoke alone, not surrounded by doctors wearing worried expressions. His arm hurt, but not so much as before. His shoulder was very numb. Alfred forced himself to keep from looking at it for fear of what he would find.

Alfred looked to his right and realized that no, he was not actually alone. Arthur was sitting in a chair, sound asleep. Alfred smiled slightly at the sleeping form.

"Hey," he called quietly. "Arthur. Wake up."

Arthur cracked an eye open. "Alfred. You're awake."

"Yup. I'm feeling a lot better. Probably shot full of anesthetic. So, uh, how does my arm look?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You mean you haven't seen it for yourself?"

"Not yet. I'm... I'm kind of scared to look."

Arthur stood up and took Alfred's right hand, squeezing gently. "I'll be right here. Take a look."

Alfred swallowed nervously. He slowly turned to look at his shoulder...

...to find no hole. Healthy, if somewhat red, skin covered his shoulder. It was as if nothing had happened. "H-how?" he asked. "Only Matthew was ever good enough at healing..."

Arthur grinned. "Surprise. Your brother is back, Alfred."

"How did he get out?" Alfred exclaimed, sitting up rapidly. He hissed as sudden pain erupted from his shoulder.

Arthur tutted as he helped Alfred back into the pillows. "You're still bedridden for the next eight hours. No sudden movements."

"Don't change the subject," Alfred objected through clenched teeth. Arthur gave Alfred a pill and the American swallowed it gratefully. The pain slowly disappeared.

"Better now? Good. Matthew was set free by Captain Beilschmidt. He was given back all of his herbs and remedies-"

"The Spadean bastards got their hands on those?!" Alfred interrupted indignantly. He ignored the scandalized expression on Arthur's face. "What did they do, dig through all the cabinets in the basement?"

"Matthew told them where they were. He was being tortured, remember?" Alfred fell silent. "Anyway, he was set free and given a message to deliver."

"What did the message say?"

Arthur shrugged. "Matthew only told Pat. No one else knows."

"Then you have to get Pat over here to tell me."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think he'll tell you anything? He's the leader, not you."

Alfred frowned._ Just because Pat's the official leader doesn't mean he's the acting one!_ "Then get Matthew. He'll tell me."

"No he won't. He's busy."

"Too busy to see his own brother?"

"Actually, yes. He's busy healing people."

"What happened?"

Arthur sighed. "You've been unconscious for about ten hours. In that time, we sent a group to raid the soldiers' supplies. It...didn't go well, to say the least."

_No. No no no. They started the war without me. It started without me and look what happened! This isn't how it was supposed to go! We were supposed to win every battle!_ "How many dead?"

"Just one."

"That's one too many," Alfred muttered. "Who was it?"

"It was Tony."

Alfred didn't expect those words to feel so much like a stab in the gut. "That's...oh. Who's bright idea was it to send Tony? He's a blacksmith! Our only real blacksmith, and the best one we have!"

"It was Tony's idea. He wanted to be a hero." For some reason, Arthur looked infinitely regretful.

"Oh, light..." A lump formed in Alfred's throat.

"Alfred? Alfred, are you alright?" Arthur knelt over the American and wrapped Alfred in a comforting embrace. "It'll be alright, love. It'll all be fine." Alfred didn't know why he was saying that until he realized that tears were falling from his eyes. He was crying.

* * *

**AN: Hey, guys, sorry for the wait. Life got in the way. For the next couple of days, I should be back in my regular chapter-a-day schedule, but after that things might get a little jumpy. I've got a really big regatta coming up this weekend and I'm super nervous. So, yeah. Fun times.**

**You guys will find out more about Matthew's healing awesomeness later. Guess all you want, but you'll never get it right. Kind of like the ending for Bioshock Infinite (which I ****_still need to play_**** so no spoilers). Also, not sure if this was clear, but Alfred doesn't have glasses in this one. ****_Yet._**

**By the way, this has become my Camp NaNo project. Yup. And for the June session of Camp, I'll be writing another fic with the (working) title of The Phoenix. A title with more than one word? No! It can't be!**

**Alright, this author note is getting kind of long. See you lovelies next chapter!**


	13. Chapter 13

Arthur watched Alfred sleep, listened to the soothing sounds of the younger man's snoring. The low rumbling helped to quiet the soldier's frayed nerves. Arthur's scapegoat was dead. Then again, his biggest oppose was dead. But the seeds of doubt Tony had sewn were very much alive, and Arthur had no one to pin the suspicion on.

Alfred was here, though. Alfred would be easily manipulated into defending him. _It'll be fine. Everything will be fine._

Arthur turned at the sound of the tent flap moving. Matthew strode in and sat down beside the soldier.

"How's he doing?" the medic asked.

"You tell me. You're the one who knows about medicine."

"I meant emotionally. He knows about Tony, right?"

"He knows. He's...upset. But he'll be alright." Arthur paused, inspecting the other man. He looked haggard, worn, exhausted as if he had lived a hundred years without sleeping. "What about you? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Or, at least, I will be soon."

"How do you heal things so quickly? If you don't mind my asking."

Matthew smiled slightly. _Light, he looks like he aged fifty years,_ Arthur thought. "Trade secret," the medic said with a wink. "Even Alfred doesn't know."

"Understood. I have to say, though, it's almost miraculous, what you can do. It's a gift."

"It's an art," Matthew corrected, "but thank you."

"Alfred really will be okay, right?" Arthur asked. HIs voice shook slightly, and for once, it wasn't acting.

"He'll be fine. Just don't let him move too much. Sleep and food is good." Matthew smiled slightly. "You don't have to worry. I'll keep him safe for you."

"For both of us. And don't forget to take care of yourself."

"I'll be fine, and so will Alfred. I promise." Matthew slipped silently out of the tent.

_There is only one way to describe that man. Quiet, comforting, and wise beyond his years._

Arthur sighed and watched shadows cast by lantern light play on Alfred's face, a face of chiseled marble stone. Thin, arching brows, a gentle jawline, and soft lips made Alfred look like a young boy, and that was all he really was. An idealistic boy trapped in a cynic's war. Arthur desperately wanted to know how he had been pushed into the role he was in. _You're too innocent for this. You're not the monster everybody seems to think you are._

Tentatively, careful not to wake him, Arthur's hand brushed Alfred's bangs away from his eyelids. That same hand then ran along Alfred's cheek, caressing him, gentling him. In the back of his mind, Arthur wondered if Alfred still had his nightmares. He certainly wasn't having any now. His face was serene.

Arthur suddenly became aware that Alfred's eyes were open and trained on him. Arthur's hand was still on the other's face. Arthur stumbled backwards, feeling his own face grow hot. "S-sorry," he mumbled.

"Hey, it's okay," Alfred said sleepily. "It was nice."

Arthur curled up in his chair, pointedly looking at his knees. Alfred jabbed his hand into the other man's line of view. "Don't ignore me," he complained, taking Arthur's hand.

"What are you doing?" Arthur looked up.

"Getting your attention." He didn't let go. Instead, Alfred looked carefully at Arthur's face. "You're real pretty, Art."

Arthur's face felt like fire. "Very descriptive."

"I'm serious! I'm not really good with words, but..." It was Alfred's turn to flush. His face turned a dark red. "You're...you're beautiful. I really mean that."

Alfred carefully pushed himself up into a sitting position and beckoned for Arthur to come closer. The soldier sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Alfred. "What is it? Do you need more pills?"

Alfred leaned in closer, and Arthur leaned in himself, until their foreheads rested against each other. Their eyes stared deep into abysses of sapphire and emerald, each man losing himself in the other's iridescent color. "I, uh, I kind of wanted to kiss you? If that's okay?"

Arthur smiled in agreement. He closed his eyes as their foreheads separated and their lips moved closer until -

Someone cleared their throat, and they jumped apart before their lips could meet. Standing in the doorway of the tent was Pat. "I've got something rather important to say, if you don't mind," the tall man said. "To Alfred. Privately."

"Understood, sir!" Arthur shot out of the tent, sprinting, and he didn't stop running until he reached his own canvas shelter. After the initial panic left, he wondered what Pat had to say that was so important as to deny Alfred some joy. _I hope Alfred will finally get that message from Matthew,_ Arthur thought. _If whatever Pat's saying is anything less important, I might strangle him in his sleep._

"Can't you have a little tact, Pat?" Alfred complained. "I was obviously in the middle of something."

"Sorry. But this is really important."

Alfred raised a condescending eyebrow. "It better be."

Pat cleared his throat, looking a bit intimidated. "I wanted to give you the message Matthew brought."

Alfred nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's important."

Pat passed the note to him. The blond unrolled it, squinting in the dim light.

_Nighteagle,_

_I give you your brother as a measure of good faith. In return, I ask that you come down to the main road leading into Richmond for a peace talk. You may bring a single companion. I will bring one, as well. I expect you within three days. If, after three days, you have not come, I will lead the army into your camp and crush every man, woman, and child's bones into dust before your eyes._

_Also, I felt I ought to warn you, seeing as your brother told me how naive you are. I have a spy in your midst. It is not who you expect._

_- Captain Gilbert Beilschmidt, Captain of Teal Company_

"Spies and peace talks... Obviously, I have to go."

"The question is, with who?"

Alfred rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I think... Steve. He's reliable, and a good swordsman. Levelheaded, too. If anything goes wrong, I can count on him to back me up."

"Steve is still upset over Tony's death," Pat pointed out. "He might act irrationally."

"They were close... You're right."

"What about Lyra?" Pat suggested. Alfred considered it for a moment. Lyra was a crack shot with a bow and had a very calm nature. She was also skilled at fighting on horseback. "I guess Lyra will be fine," Alfred conceded. "You should tell her that we're leaving tomorrow."

Pat nodded. "Should I tell her why?"

"Yeah. Be sure to emphasise that she can't tell anyone else about it, though."

"Got it. Sorry about interrupting you earlier."

"It's fine. What you had to say was important."

"Good luck tomorrow." Pat left the tent, leaving Alfred to himself.

He had been so, so close to kissing Arthur. So close. But more important events were afoot. An invasion was imminent and there was a spy amongst them. There wasn't time to worry about foolish emotions. But he had been able to express his feelings for the first time without being called _volatile_, and he bitterly regretted returning to his previous state. For the revolution's sake, though, he had to be made of stone.

* * *

**AN: Sorry about this being updated so late in the day! I was busy with an overload of homework. Finals are coming up, y'know?**

**So, someone finally caught something that I snuck into this fic. Congrats! Can't really name you, because you were a guest... There are two more easter eggs in here, though, so maybe you can catch them!**

**As far as updating goes, I know for sure that I can't update on Saturday. I also most likely won't be able to update on Friday or Sunday. I'm going to be away for those days, rowing my little heart out.**

**Alright! All done here! See you guys later!**


	14. Chapter 14

Arthur was torn out of his thoughts by Pat's entrance. "Yes? What is it, sir?" he asked, standing up.

"I'm gonna say this right now so that we don't have any more problems. I don't like you. You have no sense of loyalty. You may have Alfred tied to strings, but you won't get me. If you endanger this revolution in any way, I'll have your head. Am I clear?"

"Crystal, sir." _How strange. I thought he was a gentle giant. I suppose I was wrong._

"Good." Pat left. His footsteps were audible for some time.

Arthur sighed, wondering why it was him that always ended up in these horrible situations. What was it that he had done that made him suffer so? Why did the light shine so unfortunately upon him?

Questions that were impossible to answer. But they weren't the only futile questions Arthur had. The England Provincianer had more wonderings than trees had leaves.

Arthur decided to put his mind off of all these stressful thoughts by writing a report to Gilbert, but he quickly found that he had nothing to write about. No new information. The camp had blue uniforms to wear now, but that wasn't exactly important. No news of an attack, no rebels from other villages joining, nothing. Was he simply not digging deep enough?

It dawned on Arthur that he wasn't really hunting for information anymore. He was mostly worrying about keeping his cover and worrying about Alfred. Why was that so? He used to be so eager to root out secrets and be promoted. Where had that hidden beast gone? Where did his loyalties lie?

"Back to impossible questions," Arthur grumbled to himself. Perhaps Pat had reached a grain of truth. Arthur didn't know where his loyalties where anymore. That meant they weren't firmly with the Kingdom of Spades. He was disloyal.

One thing he did know, though, was that he was not with the rebellion. Whatever he was, Arthur was against this so-called revolution. If he had to pick a side, then he would pick his own.

If there was only one certainty, it was that Arthur Kirkland didn't need anyone.

Alfred's body was asleep. But his mind was very much awake, to his chagrin. He was dreaming. For Alfred, though, dreams were never pleasant.

LIke all of his dreams, he was in darkness made up of blues and purples. It always began so peacefully. There was a beam of light up ahead, spilling down from the unseen heavens. Alfred's body began to move towards it, despite his mental protests. Halfway to the light, he turned his head to see his footsteps were leaving a bloody trail. A quick glance at his hands confirmed that they were also covered in the crimson liquid.

He reached the light and closed his eyes, bathing in its glow. It was warm and soft, oozing down his arms. It was sticky and, pulsating, it covered him. He opened his eyes to find the light had turned into a waterfall of blood pouring from a giant beating heart above him.

That was when the fear began. Fear always engulfed him at this point, because he knew he had passed the point of no return. The blood pooling around his feet became a gruesome red mirror, reflecting his image back at him. He was a monstrous beast, a bird of prey with black feathers falling off his arms and clumped with blood, a cruel, jagged beak jutting out of his face where his nose should've been.

He tried to scream - he always tried to scream - but all that came out was the sound of a bird dying.

Looking up from the mirror, he found that he was surrounded by people with gory wounds on their necks and chests, spilling blood from them. They slowly shambled towards him, whispering horrors.

_Death comes for us all..._

_Blood and souls and flesh and bones..._

_Stab it, slash it, kill it..._

_Take their life and take their gold..._

_You cannot kill death..._

_You cannot evade pain..._

_WE COME FOR YOU..._

Alfred tried to back away, but the waterfall of blood became solid. He could not escape. the bodies stumbled forward.

The first one reached him and grabbed his arm, slamming it against the stone of blood and shattering his wrist. Another yanked at his other arm and did the same. More bodies surrounded him, pulling at his beak. Alfred screamed in pain - the scream more of a squawk than anything - as he felt the skin and muscles tear, ripping from his face. Slowly, always so slowly, the beak came away. The body that gripped it spat in Alfred's eye.

_YOU WILL PAY._

The body stabbed Alfred with the beak, over and over, turning his chest into a bloody mess. The stabs were arranged in a crude replica of the Nighteagle's calling card. They were taunting him with his own demise.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Alfred knew it wasn't real. But it didn't feel fake. Awake, he could perfectly describe the sensation of having a beak torn out of his face. He could tell anyone exactly which muscles and tendons would rip first. Awake, he felt nothing. Asleep, he felt nothing but pain.

_We got you..._

_We hurt you..._

_But you are not dead... You cheated death..._

_WE WILL RETURN..._

Alfred's eyes shot open. He was awake. He escaped from the nightmare. He eluded the ghosts. He cheated death.

He did nothing for some time, just letting his lungs calm down, waiting for his breathing to return to normalcy and his heart to stop trying to beat its way out of his chest. Focusing on the lantern's light helped him calm. Alfred fed all of his fears into the flame, watched them burn in his mind's eye. He slipped softly into the void.

All was calm.

* * *

**AN: Sorry this one's a shorty! The next one will be longer, I promise. Also, I can now with a certainty state that THERE WILL BE REPRIEVE FROM THIS ENDLESS DO-YOU-LIKE-ME-OR-DO-YOU-NOT IN THE NEAR FUTURE. I know this because I wrote the chapter already. Patience, my padawans.**

**Also, I was wrong about the number of easter eggs in this story. There are actually three more to find. Good luck, guys! (The third one is particularly difficult, so I'll give you a hint: Randland.) Anyone who finds all of the easter eggs gets a story! Now ****_hunt!_**

**Alright, back to Skyrim for me. Until next chapter!**


	15. Chapter 15

For some reason, Arthur didn't want to get up. He had a bad feeling about the coming day. It felt as though there were demons in the camp, bad spirits amongst them waiting to pounce.

As such, Arthur decided that he did not want to face the day. All he wanted was a bit more sleep and relaxation. He certainly didn't want to immerse himself in the tension of the rebel camp.

Since there was nothing to occupy him, though, his thoughts drifted. They lazed their way back to his previous dilemma: if he was on his own side, a wild card, how was he to help stop this revolution? He allied himself with Spades, but he did sympathize with the rebels. What was he to do?

Arthur sighed into his pillow. If only his father was here. He would know what to do. But the older Kirkland was busy in Parliament, arguing with other politicians about trivial matters of minor importance.

_Wait. That's it!_ Arthur sat up rapidly, shocked at the brilliance of his plan. There was no fighting in Parliament. Only debates. If he could somehow convince the politicians to help America's economy, this revolution would be nullified. But first, he would have to convince his father to help him.

With a quill in hand, he scribbled a missive to Baron Kirkland. This whole war could be averted now. Peacefully. Everybody would win. It would be fine. Everything would be just fine.

There was only one slight problem. How would he get this message to the capitol of Spades?

Lyra was very quiet, Alfred discovered. She always looked lost in thought. Very calm, very serene. Levelheaded. Occasionally cold, but not intentionally so.

Alfred found it infuriating.

The woman showed no emotion. Ever. It was a stark contrast to Alfred's frequently changing feelings. And yet... He had heard her play the harp once. You would think the instrument itself was crying, the way she played it. The haunting melody drove listeners to tears with its sorrowful notes. Lyra obviously had emotions. She just suppressed them.

Infuriating.

As their horses walked along the dirt path, Alfred seethed with anger, sending dirty looks at Lyra. Lyra didn't notice, or pretended not to. She just kept her thoughtful expression, staring off into the distance.

Alfred pulled his bandana up to cover his sneer. He didn't like being mean, and while he couldn't change his expression, he could at least hide it. Needless cruelty was unnecessary, counterproductive, and decidedly unheroic.

"We're getting close," Lyra said suddenly, breaking the silence. "We should draw our weapons."

"Why? This is a peace meeting," Alfred frowned.

"It could be a trap. Best to be prepared." Always so logical. But Alfred thought with his heart.

"They're not going to attack us. Besides, they could take drawn weapons as a threat."

Lyra shrugged. "You're the leader. Whatever you say."

Silence reigned once more. Their horses continued onward.

After some time, they reached two mounted horsemen. Alfred recognized both of them. The first was Gilbert, the albino captain of Teal Company. The second was the lieutenant who testified at Sage Alicia's trial. Alfred was suddenly resentful of the bandana preventing him from spitting at their feet.

"Ah, you're here, Nighteagle. Or should I call you Alfred?" the captain taunted.

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "I would prefer if we kept this civilized," he growled.

Gilbert laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Civilized? I'd be civilized if you hadn't shot my eye out. But you're right. This is supposed to be a peace talk."

"If you don't mind my asking, why the sudden change of heart?" Lyra interrupted, her voice as serene as her posture. "It seemed that you were all for war before. Why not now?"

Gilbert's grin was like that of a wolf. "My brother is going to be coronated as the King of Hearts. I want to get this over with so I can go home."

"I see. Thank you. And congratulations."

"What are your terms?" Alfred asked irritably.

"Ah, I was hoping we would get to that. The terms are simple. You come quietly, and we'll crush your rebellion with minimal casualties. How does that sound?"

"Terms not accepted. How about we become independent, and you leave us the fuck alone?"

Gilbert looked...amused, almost. "Are you sure about that? What if I show you a little something Spades has up its sleeves?" He motioned to the lieutenant beside him, who lifted a strange cylindrical object to his shoulder. There was a bang.

Lyra fell off her horse, blood pooling around her, flowing out of a wound in her chest. She was dead.

Lyra's mount screamed and fled, and Alfred's mare reared. "What the hell is that?" he shouted. He tried to keep the fear out of his voice. He wasn't sure he succeeded.

"This is a new invention from China Province," Gilbert announced smugly. "They call it a qiang there. We call it a gun."

"That's - Light, how?" Alfred looked down at Lyra's body. There was just no way...

"Do you reconsider now? Last chance."

Voices were screaming in Alfred's head. The voice of reason said they had to surrender. The voice of fear said they would die if they didn't give in Alfred told them all to shut up. "No. We will not surrender."

"Your funeral. Go tell your little buddies to build up the barricade, because we're coming for you."

"We won't go down like this. You can't scare us into submission. I promise that, even if you do win, it won't be worth your while, because we'll bring down as many people as we can with us. We'll go down fighting." Alfred spurred his horse and galloped away, Gilbert's laugh ringing in his ears.

Despite his brave words, though, his heart was hammering in his chest. Alfred could talk big all he wanted, but the facts were right in his face. Victory would not be theirs unless they could get their hands on those guns.

* * *

**AN: Here's another chapter, guys! Hey, look, plot advancement. Sweet.**

**Alright, so I'm gonna leave for Saratoga (and my regatta) now, so wish me luck! No updates tomorrow, though. Sorry! Side effect of having too much of a life.**


	16. Chapter 16

News spread through the camp like wildfire. Rumor had it that the Spadeans had a weapon that could kill people from twice the range of a bow. Arthur knew of no such weapon and told those who asked him as much, but when Alfred confirmed those rumors, Arthur felt his sense of dread rise up and engulf him._ Bad spirits amongst us, waiting to pounce._

Alfred sat by the fire in the middle of the camp, a fairylight lantern hanging in a tree above him. He had asked to be left alone, but it looked like he needed someone to talk to now more than ever. Taking a chance, Arthur approached.

"What do you want?" Alfred asked gruffly. He looked like a pouty child, but his eyes were frozen in fear.

"You looked rather lonely," Arthur replied as he sat down.

"That's 'cause I want to be alone."

"Do you really?"

Alfred sighed. "No. But I don't want people asking me about what happened. It's bad enough I had to watch someone die."

"Then I won't ask."

Alfred smiled gratefully at him, then resumed his contemplation of the fire.

"Although, I do have a question. What are you going to do next?"

"I don't know. I'll try to go to the capitol and steal some blueprints or a model or something. Not that it'll help much. These guns... They're a nightmare. We're too unprepared to face them."

_Yes! Perfect! You're a lifesaver, Alfred, and you don't even know it._ "If you are going to the capitol, can you take a missive for me? It's to my father, Baron Richard Kirkland."

"Yeah, sure. What does it say?"

"Just letting him know that I'm still alive." Arthur's stomach tightened uneasily at the lie. For some reason, lying to Alfred wasn't so easy anymore.

"Alright. I'll take it whenever you have it done." Alfred leaned over and kissed the top of Arthur's head.

_No. I can't do this._ "W-wait, Alfred. I... I wasn't being entirely truthful. There's more to the message than that."

Alfred drew back and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "What else does it say?"

"I'm asking my father to appeal to Parliament and buy from America Province again. To help your economy and stop this foolish revolution."

"Wait. _Wait._ You're - you're the spy?" Alfred looked mortified.

"Please just listen for a moment!" Arthur pleaded. "It's not what you think."

Alfred's face looked as hard as stone. "Tent. Now." He marched the soldier into his tent. "Start explaining," Alfred ordered harshly.

Arthur told him everything. How he originally became a spy, how he had fallen away from Spades, how he jus wanted for there to be peace. He held back nothing. At the end, Alfred looked calmer, but his eyes still held betrayal. That hurt Arthur more than anything else.

"So, basically, everything is a lie," Alfred concluded.

"Not everything," Arthur protested. "I do hold feelings for you. They might have begun as false, but they aren't anymore."

"How can I believe you?"

"I already admitted everything. There is no reason to lie now. Besides, it's not as though you always told the truth," Arthur pointed out. "There are probably still things that you're hiding, even now."

"I...I guess that's true," Alfred admitted grudgingly. "I don't really trust you anymore. But I don't really not trust you, either. You know what I mean?"

"That's more than I could've hoped for. Thank you for listening."

"Least I could do."

"I'm sorry, Alfred. I really am."

"Mm."

"Alfred...you know my feelings. But what about you? Do you..." Arthur bit his lower lip nervously.

Alfred laughed without mirth, like a day without sunshine. "It's hard to stop being in love."

Arthur gasped at the last word, and Alfred himself looked amazed that he had said that. But something in both of them seemed to click, and together, as one, they leaned forward. Their lips locked, and they sealed their fate with a kiss.

Alfred's heart pounded like a war drum as they separated. Everything in him was a mess of confusion. He didn't trust Arthur, but he loved him. Did he love him? Alfred didn't know. It certainly seemed as though Arthur loved him.

Alfred shut his mind off. It didn't help with anything; it just complicated matters. He opened up his heart and listened to its wisdom.

Alfred pulled Arthur into his arms, because his heart told him to. Arthur rested his chin on Alfred's shoulder, rubbing his hand along the younger man's spine. It felt...comforting. Arthur's hand soothed Alfred's tense muscles, relaxing him and lifting a weight he hadn't even known he carried.

"I forgive you," he whispered into Arthur's ear. "But I'm still watching you."

"Of course. But I would like to hear the things you've been hiding from me."

"It's only fair. But I don't even know where to start. It's all so tangled..."

Arthur kissed his cheek. "You don't have to tell me today. Just eventually. Take your time; you have bigger things to worry about right now."

"I'll still take your letter, if you want me to. I have a feeling that this war might not be won by anyone. A backup plan will be welcome."

"I agree." Arthur lightly touched Alfred's left shoulder, the simple contact infinitely comforting to the American. "Be careful. You must remember that you were recently injured."

"The pain is already gone. I'll be fine."

"I hope so."

"I should probably go now. It takes three days to get to the capitol, so the sooner I leave, the better."

Arthur sighed. "I supposed you should, then." They untangled their arms reluctantly. Alfred kissed Arthur's forehead before standing up, and Arthur stood up after him. "Stay safe, love."

"I'll do my best." He left the warmth and security of the tent, trading whispered words and tender touches for the harsh brutality of the outside world. Alfred mounted his horse and galloped onward toward the capitol. It was time to steal something more than Arthur's heart. He needed to steal a gun.

* * *

**AN: IT FINALLY HAPPENED GUYS. THEY FINALLY KISSED. RELEASE THE FIREWORKS.**

**So I'm exhausted from my regatta. The team didn't do so well. ****_Sigh._**** But we'll be going back to Saratoga next week, so there'll be a chance to redeem ourselves! However, that means more jumpy updates. Sorry, guys. But what would you rather have? Me being able to go to the state championships, or regular updates? ...****_Don't answer that. _****So, yeah! Enjoy this while it lasts! Because, you know, I can't have you guys happy for long. Believe me, this will come back to haunt them.**


	17. Chapter 17

Three days had passed, and nothing had changed. Alfred's absence was obvious, to Arthur at least, but the camp moved forward. Life went on, though that wasn't to say that the air of tension had left. Quite the contrary.

Arthur spent his time idly chatting with Steve, who spent most of his time polishing his armor. They both took comfort in each other's company, though few words were exchanged while they were together. They both mourned.

Today, on the fourth day of Alfred's absence, Arthur decided against visiting the swordsman. Instead, he went into the woods to learn the terrain. The forest was light and ever-misty, with much natural debris lying on the ground. At first, every step Arthur took ended with the sound of a twig snapping or a pile of leaves crunching. After some time, he learned how to keep his steps lighter, though it took some frustration.

The forest creatures were wary of Arthur, but not afraid, frequently coming up to him to investigate. It was as though they had never seen a person before. Arthur supposed it was because the Americans were able to kill without being seen by using longbows. He found it pleasant; he enjoyed this harmony with nature. This was something he would never be able to achieve at home.

His exploration stopped when he heard a voice. The voice seemed familiar, though it spoke in no language Arthur could understand. Arthur crept forward, keeping his footsteps soft as he approached the source of the noise.

He hid in a shrub and peered through its branches into a small clearing. A robed figure stood, reading aloud out of a book. Before them was a clear pool of water. as Arthur watched, the figure pulled out a short iron knife with a jagged edge. They extended their hand and sliced the palm of their hand, sprinkling the blood over the water. They then poured a mixed powder that glittered into the pool. There was a flash, and when Arthur could see again, the water was greyish purple. The figure scooped the mixture into a vial and corked it.

_A witch_, Arthur thought in terror. Memories of his childhood flashed before him. His family obsessively partaking in witch hunts. His eldest brother accused, tried and executed for practicing witchcraft. The pyres that he helped build to burn the accused. His own mother burning at the stake. _Witches bring nothing but sorrow upon the land and the people,_ he remembered his father say. _They are self-serving creatures. No matter how good their intentions seem and no matter how convincing their arguments, they are instruments of darkness. You must never trust a witch, Arthur._ As the figure bandaged their hand, Arthur crept forward. When he was close enough, he pulled back their hood.

Arthur almost fell over when he discovered their identity. Dusty blond hair, boyish looks, and eyes so blue they almost looked violet. "Matthew," Arthur breathed. "You're a witch, Matthew. that's how you heal people so quickly."

"No! It's not what you think-"

"The light doesn't shine upon you. You're an instrument of the shadows."

"No, Arthur, please listen, I can explain-"

"You fooled all of us!" Arthur roared. "You lied to your own brother! How could you Matthew?"

"_LISTEN TO ME!_" Matthew screamed, and Arthur stumbled backwards. He had never heard the soft-spoken man speak so loudly. "I am not a witch."

"Then what are you? How do you explain all of this? Why were you speaking incantations over the water?"

Matthew sighed. "They're not incantations; they're chemical formulas. Look." He held the book out to Arthur. The page was covered in complicated equations. "I talk to myself sometimes. It helps me concentrate."

"But-the blood. The flash."

"The flash was a chemical reaction. Sodium and water don't like to mix, but they leave a residue that can be used. As far as the blood goes, this particular solution requires hemoglobin, the protein that makes up blood."

"The knife? The robes?"

"Just a convenient tool. The robes... Well. I know what this looks like. I wear the robes so that no one will recognize me.

"So...not witchcraft?"

"Just science."

"Oh." Arthur felt his face heat up. "I'm sorry, Matthew."

"It's okay. Like I said, I know what it looks like. And you're from England Province, too. They're kind of famous for their witch hunts."

"Yes, that's true. It's an...unfortunate...part of our history. So, er, where did you get the book?"

"It's an old book, passed down through my family for at least three generations. It's from the time when America was still industrial. All this knowledge was lost in the Boston burning and the destruction of American factories. I got it from my mother. While my father raised Alfred to be a killer, my mother raised me to be a healer."

"Wow..." Arthur ran his fingers along the spine of the book, absorbing the information. "Two sides of the same coin, you two are. I suppose that's the reason why you're twins. So what is that solution for?"

"The one I just made? It's not quite done yet. Once it's finished, though, it'll help heal wounds faster and help people with haemophilia. It's the same thing I gave Alfred."

"What is haemophilia?" Matthew opened his mouth, and Arthur sensed a long-winded lecture. "On second thought, I don't want to know."

"Alright. So, you won't tell anybody about this, right?"

"Of course I won't. Just be careful with all those chemicals."

Matthew smiled. "You got it."

Arthur left the area, wondering what to do with this new information. Matthew made a convincing case. Still, Arthur would keep an eye on him. He had been raised to know that witches could lie very, very well. Though, if Matthew was telling the truth, it was not witchcraft. It was science, a lost art, forgotten on the winds of time. A distinct advantage for the rebels either way.

The rebellion was growing stronger; it could no longer be denied. The revolution demanded to be heard. Arthur was certain the rebels could be contained no more. They would not be stopped. But could casualties be minimized?

And, more importantly, could Arthur claw his way to the top?

Alfred was back to square one: running on rooftops. It was what he did best, after all. Eavesdropping on conversation informed him where the gun storage was, and now he continued toward it. He had found out that there was a barracks attached to the storage and that the guards were currently having an evacuation drill. The conditions were perfect. As Alfred ran, he formed a game-plan in his mind.

_Minimize casualties. Avoid detection. Just go in, take what you need, and get out. Nothing fancy. No stunts. Move silently in the shadow, like a wraith._

_Like a nighteagle._

Alfred dove into an open window, landing in a pile of purple and red laundry. He had slipped into the guards' laundry room. _Perfect_.

He shed his dark clothing in favor of a lieutenant's uniform, grimacing slightly at the bright red. Alfred left the room, trying to look as casual as possible. There was no one else in the hallways, however. It was the calm before the storm.

Alfred ducked into each room he passed, making sure that it really was a dormitory and not a storage room. Though he was diligent in his searches, he found nothing. He did pick up a few boxes of "bullets", though. They were probably what were fired from guns. How were they launched, though? Pocketing the boxes, he kept searching.

Alfred's muscles tensed when he saw a maroon uniform approach from around a corner._ A colonel. Shit._ He hadn't quite thought through what would happen if he was encountered in a uniform while everybody was supposed to be outside.

When the colonel came close, Alfred stiffened into a salute. The colonel frowned, his tilted eyes narrowing. "Shouldn't you be out with the others, practicing the drill?" he asked, his accent musical.

Alfred needed to lie, and fast. His throat went dry. he asked, his accent musical.

Alfred needed to lie, and fast. His throat went dry. "No, sir," he stammered, doing his best to imitate an England Province accent. "I just arrived from Teal Company with a message."

"I see. You must be the lieutenant Captain Beilschmidt spoke of. The spy." He peered carefully at Alfred's face. "Gilbert described you as having green eyes... What was your name again?"

_Fuck. I'm beyond screwed. I'm done for._ "Arthur Kirkland, sir."

The colonel smiled, but the expression didn't reach his eyes. They remained cold and calculating. "Well met. I am the leader of your brigade, Colonel Yao Wang. Come. We have much to talk about."

Alfred didn't know where he was being led, but he knew that it couldn't be anywhere good. If he didn't find some way to escape soon, he would be found out. The rebellion depended on him to bring back the guns. They needed him, and they couldn't replace him.

Alfred kept his expression blank, though his heart hammered against his chest. If he got out of this alive, it would be a miracle.

* * *

**AN: Told you the happy wouldn't last for long. And it only gets worse next chapter.**

**So today is the last day of Camp NaNoWriMo. I think I mentioned this before, but I made ****_Beasts_**** my CampNaNo novel. So I've got quite a bit of writing to do to get up to wordcount before today ends. Wish me luck, guys!**

**I probably mentioned this, too, but just in case I didn't... ****_The Phoenix_**** will be out in June. I've got some good ideas floating around for that, so I hope you'll all enjoy it. If you like, you can PM me with guesses about ****_The Phoenix_****, or maybe even suggestions. We're still a month away from launch date, so there's a lot of room for changes.**

**Also, my birthday is in ten days. This means that I will get a shit-ton of video games and stuff. So updates will be kinda jagged after May 10th, although they'll probably go back to normal after a week.**

**Alright, that's all the news I've got! See y'all later!**


	18. Chapter 18

When Arthur returned to the camp, he found it in a turmoil. Men and women were dressed in their blue uniforms, strapping swords to their belts. Pat stood towering over everybody, overseeing their frantic preparations. Over to the side, Steve was putting a tunic on top of his chainmail. Arthur instantly moved toward him, seeing as he was the only person he trusted currently in the camp.

"What's going on?" he asked. "What is all this?'

"Pat is ordering an attack on the Spadeans," he replied.

"What? Why?"

"He said his scouts told him that they don't have many guns yet. Apparently now is the time to strike, while they're still weak."

Arthur frowned. "This is a bad idea."

"It is. You want to borrow a uniform?"

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" Arthur caught the uniform Steve tossed him and put it on quickly. He took a sword from the rack and slipped it onto his belt, frowning at the deep blue of the rebel uniform. Its color reminded him that he was amongst strangers, fighting his friends. If only Alfred was here to remind him that not every rebel was an enemy.

Arthur joined the ranks of Americans marching toward the city. Everything about this plan seemed like a bad idea, a disaster waiting to happen, a storm waiting to break. Around him, the pretend soldiers looked tense and nervous. Arthur suddenly realized that they had never seen battle.

The march to Richmond was filled with anticipation. As they approached, they heard an alarm sound and watched violet-clad soldiers pour out of the city. Someone shouted, "Fire!"

With a sound like thunder, bronze pellets ripped through the air, tearing through the rebel ranks, flesh and bone both destroyed beyond repair. From within, Steve called for a charge. Arthur ran forward with the remaining rebels, drawing his sword as he sprinted. He missed his horseback advantage dearly, especially now, though in the back of his mind he realized that the higher ground would've made him a clear target. More shots were fired, bringing down more rebels with them. Arthur kept going.

His sword bit his former company members, killing them without hesitation. The devastation of those guns had to be neutralized so that the other rebels could run in and give Arthur a chance at survival. Blood pounded in Arthur's ears, but he retreated into himself. He kept the natural fear at bay by entering a void. Outside, he was the storm, the beast that consumed all and spared none. Within, he was cold and in control, watching a flame bloom like a spring flower surrounded by nothingness.

Someone called a retreat. Arthur vaguely registered the voice as being Steve's. He slayed a soldier blocking his path and thundered down the road with the rebels. The Spadean soldiers did not follow after them.

"How many casualties did we have?" he asked a nearby rebel.

"Too many," she replied between breaths. "They had way more guns than we expected. The information the scout gave us must have been bad."

Arthur nodded grimly. His arms and legs burned from the strain of battle and from running, but he persevered. One foot after the other, advancing forward.

The trip was grueling, but Arthur managed to make it back to the camp. Once there, he saw exactly how many casualties they had. At least a third of their party was gone without a trace, probably dead. Another third was nursing horrible wounds, crying out in pain. They had been irrationally underprepared.

The camp was silent but for the moans of the wounded for the rest of the day. Arthur helped Matthew heal as best as he could, though he couldn't do much. Arthur spoonfed the wounded, washed their foreheads and held their hands as their limbs were amputated, hushed their screams with comforting words. That was all he could do. But when the deed was done, the looks of gratitude the infirm gave him were looks he would never forget.

He felt a flood of emotion, like the rush of battle, but better. So much better. The moon paled before the sun.

Alfred was led into a spacious office swathed in royal blues and purples. "Please, take a seat," Yao said as he motioned to a chair before a desk. His tone made it sound less like a suggestion and more like an order. Alfred obeyed.

"So, what news does Gilbert have for me? Is he enjoying those _qiang,_ those guns?"

"About the guns," Alfred said carefully. "They're very good, but we need more. These aren't enough to go around."

Yao frowned. "We made sure to send enough for every soldier."

"Maybe there was a mistake. In any case, we need more."

"It will be done, then. Now, on to more important matters. What do you have to tell me about the Nighteagle? You were assigned to spy on him, as I understand."

"Yes, sir. It seems that he's not going to be leaving Richmond anytime soon. He's too busy trying to figure out how to deal with the guns."  
"And the other spy, how is he doing?"

Alfred frowned. "There's another spy? I...was not informed, sir."

"I see. I wonder... What game is Gilbert playing?" Yao paced around Alfred, looking at him carefully. Alfred felt rather like a piece of prey being inspected. "Is there anything else to tell me? This could easily have been coded into a letter rather than delivered in person."

"Captain Beilschmidt lost his cipher."

Another strange look from Yao. "He memorized the cipher."

Alfred felt himself sweating. "Perhaps he didn't memorize it as well as he would've liked?"

"Is that so..." If Yao had looked cold before, he was ice now. "Alfred, tell me, do you want to rise in the ranks?"

"Yes, si-"

A blade was pressed against Alfred's neck, cutting off his sentence. "Hello, _Nighteagle_," Yao taunted, whispering into his ear.

"How did you know?" Alfred choked out.

"You responded to your real name. Any last words for your precious rebellion?"

Alfred dove headfirst into the void as he drew a hidden knife from his belt. "I will not be defeated. Not so easily." He slashed upward before Yao could react, cutting the China Provincianer's cheek and causing the dark-haired man to stumble. In a flash, he was gone.

The void surrounding him, he dashed down the hallways. He heard quick, light footsteps behind him - Yao was pursuing him. Alfred forced himself to run faster, though his body protested. _I have to find the guns. Now._

He shot down the hallways, skidding around corners. A _whirrr_ by his ear informed him that Yao had begun to throw knives after him. The smaller man was getting desperate, but his desperation was turning deadly. Alfred didn't look back, but relied on his heightened awareness from the void to dodge the oncoming missiles.

A door at the end of the hallway read "Weaponry Storage" along the top. Alfred shot through the doors, wincing as a knife embedded in the wall beside him. He leaped over racks of swords and daggers, his eyes on the prize: an open box with guns clearly stacked within.

Yao kept throwing his weapons at him, but he was too far away to do any damage. Alfred dashed to the box and stuffed three guns - _muskets,_ the box read - into a canvas bag. Not much, but it would be enough for Tony to replicate.

_Tony._ The void shattered around Alfred as grief overtook him. Tony was dead. There was no one to build the weapons anymore. Tony, his longtime friend who had listened to him when no one else would and who had always given him pick-me-up advice, was dead. He had been solid; nothing could shake him. It was as if he had been made of iron. But now he was gone, and no one could replace him.

A knife scratching below his left eye startled him from his reverie, and suddenly Alfred remembered where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. _No time for mourning now._ Out the window Alfred went, the void around him.

The void disappeared as Alfred fell down three stories.

Alfred struggled to contain himself. The wind rushed past him, and his training kicked in as the ground came closer. Just before he was about to become a forgotten stain on the earth, he rolled. _Crisis averted._

Yao was most likely not going to follow him out the same way Alfred had gone. However, that didn't mean he wasn't going to follow him at all. Alfred ran as fast as he could down the streets, ignoring the people he bowled over, ignoring the angry shouts they gave him. He ran until he reached his horse, and then he urged his horse to run as fast as it could back toward Richmond.

He escaped, though not unscathed. The bouncing of the horse made him all too aware of the bruises on his back from the fall. He was lucky to be alive. Alfred's neck tingled as well from where the knife pressed in. There was possibly a thin cut. It hurt like hell. But he was alive, and that was all that mattered. He succeeded. He got the guns.

_But I lost my super awesome Nighteagle outfit,_ Alfred thought irritably.

* * *

**AN: I MADE IT. I MADE IT TO 25000 WORDS. VICTORY IS MINE.**

**I have successfully completed Camp NaNoWriMo. This means that I'm getting 50% of Scrivener, a super awesome writing program that I'm going to buy with my birthday money. Pretty sweet, right? Totally.**

**This fic has reached 25000 (at least the part that I've written and y'all have yet to see), but it's only about a third of the way done or so. So don't worry, this adventure isn't done yet. Not for a long time.**


	19. Chapter 19

"Matthew, how do you deal with it?"

"Hm?" Matthew looked up from his papers at Arthur's question. "What do you mean? Deal with what?"

"You know. With all the blood and the screaming and such when you amputate limbs."

"Oh. Well... I don't. I kind of just try not to think about it too much."

"It's just..." Arthur sighed. "You're always so calm. I don't understand how you could be that way."

"Well, how can you stay so calm in the middle of battle, eh?"

Arthur rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Good question. I suppose... I just don't think about it."

"Exactly. Battle and healing aren't really so different, if you think about it."

"That's interesting. I never really thought of it that way." Arthur looked at the sleeping wounded, quiet moans escaping them even in sleep. "So much suffering..."

"Yes. But that's why I heal, and why you fight. To end the suffering, right?"

"I suppose so." That wasn't really why Arthur fought. He fought because he had no choice anymore, though some part of him did want to end the suffering. That's why he wanted to stop the rebellion in the first place, wasn't it? So that people would stop being hurt. Where had part of Arthur gone? It had become silent some time ago, if it had not left him entirely.

And what had replaced it? Something Arthur didn't want to think about.

"Matthew, if you don't mind, I'd like to leave for a bit. Get some fresh air," he said, throwing his new blue coat over his clothing.

"That's fine. Get some rest if you need it."

"And what about you? You haven't slept in two days."

"I'll be fine. Go relax. You deserve a break."

Arthur wanted to argue, but the look Matthew gave him silenced him. He walked between the bedrolls quickly, eyes not lingering on the wounded souls lying on top of them. The night air beckoned to him, pulling him in with sweet fingers of cool, fresh scents of freedom.

Outside, Arthur took a deep breath, relishing the cold air in his lungs. The air in the infirmary had become stale and musty, filled with the scent of blood, fear, and suffering. It was dark there, too, but out here, the moon and the stars lit up the scene, giving Arthur some peace. Where the day had melodies that fought each other for dominance, with the radiant sun glittering over them all as though it had some supreme right to shine so brightly, the night was a quiet harmony, a nocturne that called in the shadows. The night was ruled by the moon, who didn't gleam, but rather glimmered, a gentle light that let its subjects, the stars, to show through the dark.

Yes, Arthur loved the night.

Though something disturbed his peace. He felt as though he was being watched by something other than the all-seeing moon, something closer and more sentient. More immediate, and more alien.

Out of the bushes stepped Alfred, leading his horse that looked about to keel over and die. As soon as they entered the camp fully, Alfred let go of the horse and walked toward Arthur, pulling him into a tight embrace. Arthur couldn't react. The American was wearing a torn Spadean uniform and was covered in scratches and bruises, dirt tarnishing his golden hair, but his smile was radiant, outshining everything, and his eyes were bright with joy when they landed on Arthur.

"I missed you," the beaten man whispered quietly.

"And I you," Arthur replied. "What happened?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

"You are absolutely not fine. Look at yourself. Take a good, long look at yourself. You look like you've been beaten half to death."

"Just trust me. I'm okay." Alfred leaned his forehead against Arthur's. "I'm so glad I'm finally back."

"I'm glad you've returned, as well. I worried about you. With good reason, it seems."

Alfred pressed his lips lightly to Arthur's for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Though Arthur loved the night, he could love the sun as well.

"You need to go to the infirmary," Arthur breathed.

"I'd rather not. I want to spend the night back in my own tent already."

Arthur pursed his lips. "You need someone to watch you and make sure you don't hurt yourself, seeing as you're obviously not capable of keeping yourself safe."

"Fine. Then you just come with me." Alfred took Arthur's hand, and they walked silently into the tent. Arthur lit the lamp and turned, expecting Alfred to be in the bedroll and unconscious already. However, the American had only managed to pull the Spadean jacket off.

"Is something wrong, love?"

"I have a feeling that lying down is going to hurt a lot," Alfred replied.

"Here, let me help." Arthur gently helped Alfred lie down, wincing when he heard the younger man hiss in pain. "What did you do to yourself?"

"I jumped out of a building."

Arthur only remained shocked for a moment. "I thought you said you'd be careful."

"It was either jump out of the building or get stabbed."

"If you were careful, you wouldn't even be in a situation like that." Arthur gently kissed Alfred's forehead. "Now sleep. You'll get better faster that way."

"G'night, Arthur."

"Good night."

Arthur didn't go to sleep. He sat by the entrance to the tent, looking out at the stars beyond the scope of the world and occasionally glancing over at Alfred. The American's breathing seemed normal, and his expression was peaceful. No nightmares tonight. The stars would watch over him as he slept, and no matter what it was that was plaguing Alfred in his sleep, the stars would aid in his escape.

Alfred woke up feeling well-rested and warm. He quickly discovered that the warmth was because Arthur had curled up beside him and somehow ended up in his arms. Alfred was perfectly fine with that. He missed the amount of hugs, casual contacts, and general physical contact he had enjoyed as a child. He only hoped that Arthur didn't mind, as well.

Through a crack between the flaps of the tent, Alfred could see the sun rising. Alfred loved the day. The night was pleasant and all, with its quiet and gentle nature, but Alfred loved the robust sounds of the daytime, the music of life all around and thriving with the sun shining merrily above and giving breath to the world. The day radiated joy, and that was what Alfred lived on.

Though, sometimes the daytime was also quiet. For some reason, looking at Arthur reminded Alfred that, in the time that the night turned into day, the music of life was serene and still, an aubade. A song of love for the coming day. The most euphonious of all sounds.

Arthur stirred, and Alfred lightly kissed the top of the shorter man's head. "'Morning," he greeted softly, trying to imitate the quiet and gentle aubade of the dawn.

"Good morning, love," Arthur replied, yawning. "How did you sleep last night?"

"Really well."

"No nightmares?"

"None."

"That's good." Arthur smiled, and Alfred couldn't help but smile back. "Now, how are your bruises? Are they bothering you?"

"Not really. Not unless I move, anyway."

"Somehow, you always manage to get yourself hurt," Arthur mumbled as he kissed the cut on Alfred's cheek. "You really must go to the infirmary soon."

"Fine, I'll go soon. But not now. Please?"

"Alright. Not now," Arthur conceded. "I don't like the infirmary much. I've been spending too much time there."

Alfred's heart skipped a beat. "Did you get hurt? What happened?"

"Oh, hush, I'm fine. I've been helping Matthew take care of others."

_What happened to the others that forced Arthur to help?_ "Was there a battle?"

Arthur nodded. "Pat ordered a charge. He underestimated how many guns the Spadeans had. A third of our men are dead."

Not again! "Oh, light..."

"Speaking of guns, did you get any?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, I got three. Hopefully someone will be able to replicate them."

"Hopefully." Arthur snuggled closer to Alfred. "I'm worried."

"'Bout what?"

"You, mostly. But also this war."

Alfred sighed. "Me, too. I... I don't think I'm ever going to quite get over Tony's death. It hurts, Arthur. It hurts a lot."

"I know. It hurts because he was important to you."

"Don't you get yourself killed, Arthur." Alfred pulled the smaller man close, suddenly afraid that a bullet would come through the tent and hurt him. "Don't you dare get yourself killed."

"I promise I won't get killed, love. So long as you don't choke me to death."

Alfred relaxed his grip. "Sorry."

"It's quite alright. You weren't really choking me."

"I just want you to be safe."

"And I want you to be safe, but for some reason, you never are," Arthur said with a smile, tapping Alfred's nose.

"Probably has something to do with being the most wanted assassin in Spades," Alfred laughed.

"Yes, that's probably it." Arthur's laugh was musical, a beautiful, rich sound that rang in Alfred's ears long after it was over. Alfred wanted to treasure it forever.

"Well, now, the sun had just about risen," Arthur said when his laughter was over. "You ought to go get yourself healed now."

"I don't want to leave," Alfred replied quite honestly. "I want to stay here with you."

"I want to stay here, as well, but there are things that must be done."

"I guess you're right." Alfred gently pushed himself up, grimacing when his bruises sent throbs of pain through his nerves. Pain was something he should've been used to by now, but alas.

"Would you like me to walk with you to Matthew's tent?" Arthur offered, and Alfred nodded. Though he had gotten sleep - beautiful, restful, dreamless sleep - he still felt more tired than he had the night before. As they walked, Alfred had to lean on Arthur for support. Had it been any other person, Alfred would've felt shame that he was so weak, but Arthur was different. Arthur didn't judge; he was just there, quietly helping him throughout all of his struggles, day or night. Like the moon, he watched over Alfred and picked him up when he had fallen.

Alfred didn't know much about love. But if he had to describe love as anything, he would describe it as Arthur.

* * *

**AN: I think this chapter is my favorite so far, just because it made me happy. Sorry this is coming up a little late; I had to stay late at crew practice to held load the boats onto the trailer. I mean, technically I didn't ****_have_**** to, but I did anyway because everybody else was leaving and I felt bad that the coaches had to load the boats all by themselves even though they weren't the ones that were going to be racing in them. So yeah.**

**And now, I sleep, because god ****_damn _****am I tired.**


	20. Chapter 20

Matthew didn't look surprised when he saw Alfred. "I don't even want to know. Just find an empty bedroll and wait for me to get to you."

Arthur helped Alfred lie down. His nose crinkled at the familiar scent of the infirmary, but it also awoke the new skills he had learned while helping Matthew. Arthur wiped the American's forehead with a damp rag, smiling down at him gently. Alfred looked like he enjoyed the cool water, but was otherwise uncomfortable.

"I don't like it here," he said quietly. "In here, it feels like I'm gonna die."

"You're not going to die," Arthur said firmly. "I won't allow it."

"I know that. It just feels that way."

Arthur sighed. "I suppose it is rather oppressive in here. I've gotten used to it, though."

"Out of the way," Matthew said from behind Arthur. He knelt down beside his twin, frowning slightly. "What happened to you?"

"I jumped out of a building."

"Of course you did." Matthew used a small dagger to cut Alfred's shirt off.

Matthew took a sharp breath and Arthur outright gasped when they saw the bruises covering Alfred's chest and abdomen. Alfred himself looked a bit surprised to see the multitude of colors underneath the shirt. "You weren't kidding," Matthew said weakly."

"Is it really that bad?"

"Of course it's that bad!" Arthur cried. "Why didn't you tell me how injured you were? You've probably broken every bone in your body!"

Matthew rested a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "He hasn't broken anything. He's just badly bruised. He'll be alright."

"Thank the light for that. But still..."

"I'm sorry for worrying you," Alfred said softly, his voice cracking. Arthur gently kissed Alfred's forehead.

"You need to take better care of yourself. That's all I want of you."

"I knew it," Matthew muttered as he pulled out a flask. "Here, drink this." Alfred eagerly swallowed its contents, throwing the bottle away when he was done.

"Can I leave now?" Alfred asked.

"Obviously not. You're staying put until those bruises are gone."

"But that'll take _forever_!"

"Two hours isn't forever, doofus," Matthew turned to Arthur. "Make sure he doesn't kill himself while I'm gone. I have some experimenting to do." He stood up and left. Arthur could practically see the formulas for solutions floating around his head.

Arthur saw movement out of the corner of his eye. "Don't even think about it," he muttered. Alfred slumped back into the pillows.

"I don't want to spend two hours just lying around," Alfred complained.

"You couldn't even walk here on your own. Just wait a little while. For me?"

Alfred sighed. "Fine. But you'll keep me company, right?"

"Of course." Arthur rested beside Alfred, smiling slightly when the other man put his arm around him. He kissed the underside of the American's chin, enjoying the warmth radiating from him.

"You know, maybe spending two hours here won't be so bad," Alfred mused. He closed his eyes, a peaceful expression settling on his face. "Yeah... This is fine."

"So, if I take a nap, you won't try to sneak away?"

"I'll definitely sneak away then. It'll be boring if you're out cold."

Arthur laughed. "Then I won't sleep."

"Wait, are you tired?" Alfred asked. He opened his eyes, and the look of concern he wore was absolutely endearing. "I won't sneak away if you're tired."

"I'm fine. Don't worry." Arthur tapped his nose. "You're very handsome when you're worried about me, you know."

Alfred reddened slightly. "Quit it, you're making me all nervous."

"There's no need to be nervous."

"Of course there is. You're already so amazing. I want you think I'm as amazing as you are."

Arthur rested his head on Alfred's chest, listening to his heart beat, etching its time on the earth. "You are amazing, and you are important. Don't even think otherwise."

"Whatever you say."

The next two hours passed in a mostly-comfortable silence, after which Matthew allowed them to leave. Arthur was that to see that Alfred could move on his own now, though his legs were still a little shaky.

The camp was eerily quiet. People still went around patching clothing, cooking food, and honing weapons, but there was no conversation. The deaths of the few silenced the many.

Alfred left Arthur once he was out of the infirmary. Each step was a struggle, but he kept going to his tent, where the bag of guns was stashed. He slung the sack over his shoulder and turned to leave, intending to bring the guns to the forge.

Pat stood in the entrance, blocking Alfred's path. "How're you feeling, Alfred? I heard you got hurt."

"I'm fine."

"What's in the bag?"

"Guns."

"So you got them, then." Pat didn't look excited. In fact, Alfred thought he almost seemed... disappointed.

"Yeah, I got three. I'm heading over to the forge to get the blacksmiths working on more."

"Want me to take them for you? You _ar_e injured, after all."

"It's fine. I can do it." Alfred moved to walk past Pat.

With surprising speed for such a large man, Pat grabbed his left shoulder and pressed in with his thumb. Alfred grit his teeth to contain a scream of pain, his legs instantly buckling and bringing him to his knees. "You are injured, after all," Pat repeated, his voice deadly quiet.

"I refuse to be bullied," Alfred snarled. But his grip on the back loosened involuntarily. Pat seized the moment and slipped it out of his hands.

"Thank you for cooperating." Taking the bag with him, Pat left. And not in the direction of the forge.

Alfred could hold himself up no longer and collapsed on the dirt floor, his face landing in a patch of dying grass. He rolled onto his back and gently massaged his shoulder, hissing in pain. Maybe the solution Matthew had given him made his shoulder look fine, but it was still fragile.

Alfred sighed. He hated feeling so weak, hated feeling like he couldn't do anything. Pat was obviously up to something, but Alfred could barely move, let alone investigate. He would have to rely on someone else to do everything for him, and if there was one thing he hated, it was being dependent.

When the pain subsided into a dull ache, Alfred got up. He more or less staggered out of the tent, wincing as pain shot through his shoulder every step he took. He fixed his pace so that he looked more sure-footed, then headed toward Pat's tent. Alfred was going to find out what was going on if it killed him.

* * *

**AN: Sorry for a lack of updates. I'm just tired, y'know? Finals are coming up, life is getting busy, and I'm going to State Championships in Saratoga this weekend. I'm going to be driving up there on my birthday, which is Friday. Also, I'm probably not going to be able to go on the date my boyfriend and I planned for Thursday since I'll be packing up the boats all afternoon. So, yeah. Really tired, guys.**

**On a more cheerful note, I started watching Supernatural and ****_god damn_**** is it a great show. Lovin' it, guys. Lovin' it. Also, I've already written up to Chapter 27 in my notebook, so it's not like there's a shortage of words. Just a shortage of energy to type it all up and upload it. ****_But I'm getting, there, guys._**** I just need more sleep is all.**

**A'ight, I'll see you guys on the next chapter.**


	21. Chapter 21

Arthur knew there was going to be trouble when he saw Pat walking toward him. The giant man had already made it perfectly clear that he thought Arthur was a menace. Nothing good could come out of this encounter.

"Explain to me why Alfred is injured and alone," Pat demanded.

"He is injured because he jumped out of a building," Arthur replied cooly. Pat narrowed his eyes.

"Then why is no one taking care of him?'

"Because he insisted that he was fine. If you're so concerned, why don't you just take care of him yourself?"

"I have business to attend to, because I, unlike you, actually contribute to the war effort."

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. That stung. He wanted to deny it, but he couldn't because he knew it was true. Still, he had dignity to defend.

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but he saw movement - a flash of violet between the trees - and turned to look.

"Are you gonna stand there with your mouth open or are you gonna say something?" Pat demanded.

"There's something in the trees, Pat. I think we're under attack-"

"Quit seeing things and tell me why you aren't helping Alfred!"

"You don't understand; we're about to be ambushed by the army-"

"They don't know where we are!"

"Of course they do, you idiot! They tortured Matthew-"

"Fire!" From the forest, bullets shot into the camp, shattering the fairylights hanging from the trees at an unseen command. There were screams. Arthur dropped to the ground to avoid the hell that raged around him. Pat was nowhere to be found.

In the midst of the battle, with death and destruction raging over the camp, Arthur had only one question. _Where is Alfred?_

The interior of Pat's tent looked eerily similar to Alfred's, but for the huge stacks of paper covering the tables. Alfred leafed through some of the pages nearest to him, eyes narrowing when he saw who they were from. _The rebellion leaders in the other towns. The letters all ran along the same lines. Thank you for warning us of the danger. We will refrain from sending our soldiers to Richmond._

Further in the tent, he found his old Nighteagle gear, the clothing he thought he had lost in the capitol. Alfred grinned and put it on quickly, only wincing slightly from the effort. He didn't question his good fortune. He transferred the letter and boxes of bullets from the Spadean uniform to his own clothing.

Nearby, he found the guns, the _muskets_, still wrapped in their canvas bag. Alfred pulled one out and loaded it. He didn't know how to use it, but that would change soon enough. The Williams family had been known for being good with tech.

A strange white sheet of paper, so unlike familiar parchment, stood out from the piles. Alfred carefully lifted it up, scanning over the words.

_Sergeant Soriot,_

_Thank you for the notice. Be prepared for an assault today shortly before noon. Keep the rebels occupied so that they don't notice anything suspicious._

_-Captain Beilschmidt_

Alfred stuffed the letter into his pocket. He had a feeling this would be important later, especially since it seemed that Pat was not as honest as he pretended to be. Although, come to think of it, Alfred had learned that earlier in the day when Pat stabbed his thumb into Alfred's shoulder.

All of a sudden, he heard shouting and a sound like thunder. We're being attacked. Musket in hand, Alfred crept out of the tent.

Outside was hell. Bodies lay everywhere, even the bodies of children no older than three years. But the assailants were hidden from view. _So...they're in the forest. Probably a small group, very dispersed. I can take them out pretty easily. Especially with this hella sweet gun._

Alfred charged. Bullets flew by him, but he made it into the forest unscathed. The hunt began.

Alfred went in a perimeter around the camp, slaying the attackers silently with daggers or louder than thunder with the gun. He kept all thoughts out of his head, moving swiftly. Lives depended on his concentration. It took him a few tries to get used to the kickback the gun had, but he soon had it under control.

Fortune was on his side. He found Gilbert, reloading his musket as he knelt in a bush. Alfred moved forward, dagger in hand.

A twig snapped. _Mistake._

Gilbert spun around, crimson eyes wide until they settled on the assassin. "So. You've finally gotten to me. Don't think I don't know what you've been up to, killing my men in the shadows. You're as good as they say you are." He lowered his musket slowly. "Can't say I didn't expect this. Go on, then. Kill me."

Alfred froze. Blood pounded in his ears. This was always his weakness. _And his brother is going to be coronated soon... I can't just kill him. Not when he won't fight back!_

Gilbert frowned. "What're you waiting for, a sign? Quit toying with me and get it over with."

Alfred couldn't do it. He lowered his dagger. "I won't kill you if you won't fight back."

Gilbert's lips curled in a not-entirely-unpleasant smile. "Trying to keeps some honor, eh? So, what? You expect me to come quietly or something?"

"That would be preferable, yeah."

He chuckled. "Alright." Raising his voice, he called, "Stand down! Retreat!" Though Alfred couldn't see them, he heard the soldiers run through the forest back toward Richmond. The firing stopped. The camp was secure once more.

"Why are you doing this?" Alfred asked. "You have a gun. You can kill me right now."

"I could," Gilbert agreed. "But I won't, despite how much I hate you for taking my eye. I just want this war to end, even if it ends in a loss for me."

Gilbert stood up and rested his hands on his head. Alfred led him into the camp, confused. Why would Gilbert join a war he didn't want to die for?

Something moved in the corner of his eye, and suddenly he was being hugged by Arthur. "Thank the light you're okay," the smaller man murmured into his ear. "I was so worried about you."

Alfred brushed him off, ignoring the look of hurt that crossed his face. "I'm fine." Guilt tore through him, mercilessly ripping his insides to bits. Arthur had been _worried_ about him, and Alfred hadn't even spared Arthur a thought. What kind of monster, what kind of _emotionless killing machine_ was he turning into?

Someone shackled Gilbert and led him away. The surviving rebels left to bury the dead, leaving Arthur and Alfred alone. The breeze blew, wafting the scent of blood away from them.

"Alfred." Arthur rested a hand on Alfred's cheek. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me. Please."

"I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

Arthur removed his hand. His eyes flashed, mercilessly cold. "Fine, if that's the way you want to be."

"Arthur, don't be like that, I just-"

"By the way, did you ever deliver that letter to my father?"

Alfred blinked, then heat flooded his face in shame. "I forgot," he said in a small voice.

"Of course you did. Too busy jumping out of buildings and worrying people to remember something so small as a letter. Tell me, Alfred, do you care about _anything_?"

"I care about the revolution. And I care about you."

Arthur laughed, but it wasn't the musical laugh that Alfred loved. It was shot and harsh and, above all, it sounded defeated. "If you cared about either, you would've remembered that letter." He turned to leave.

"Arthur, I'm sorry."

Arthur paused for a fraction of a second. "I know." He did not sound angry or accusing. Just sincere. Just despairing.

The moment passed. Arthur walked away, his back to Alfred. _Emotionless killing machine,_ Alfred thought bitterly. Alfred vowed to make everything right again, no matter what the cost.

* * *

**AN: Sorry for the long wait! I had State Championships (which sucked, by the way - if anyone wants to listen to me vent, feel free to pm), and then I got strep throat, which I am still currently suffering from. Don't worry, I've already written far ahead. I just need to actually ****_type up the chapters_****. Which takes a surprising amount of time.** **I'm also working on an MV for this because I'm incredibly bored while I'm sick. Don't expect it to ever be finished, and if it is, it's going to be really shitty.**

**A'ight, that's all. See you guys next chapter!**


	22. Chapter 22

"Thank you for the tea, Matthew," Arthur said quietly, sipping at the medic's signature brew.

"It's not a problem. I need to take a break, anyway. And you look pretty upset."

"I am."

Matthew sat down across from Arthur. "Tell me about it. Does this have something to do with Alfred?"

Arthur nodded. "He's lying to me and hiding things from me. And he forgot to do something that was not only important to me, but to the revolution."

"I see." Matthew took a sip from his own cup. "He's been wrapped up in lies and secrets for a long, long time. Of course it's hard for him to lose all that. It's the only thing that protects him anymore."

"But he can trust me!"

"Can he?"

Arthur suddenly remembered that Alfred knew about all the lies Arthur had told, that Arthur had been the spy. "Maybe not," he muttered.

"He does trust you, I promise you that. Just not...that much." Matthew set his cup down. "As far as whatever he forgot, he's been under a lot of stress. I know it's hard. The light knows it hasn't been easy to be his brother. You just have to be patient with him. He really does care about you, Arthur. It's just difficult for him to show it."

"Do you think he'll ever truly trust me?" _After what I did..._

Matthew shrugged. "One day, maybe. Some days, I'm not sure if he trusts _me_, and I'm his _twin_."

"Why is he an assassin, anyway? I've always seen that it's in his nature to be trusting, but he holds it back for some reason."

"Ah. Storytime." Matthew took a deep breath. "This is going to take a while.

"Once upon a time, Alfred and I were little kids, only three years old. Our parents were the heads of the uprising at the time, our father being the charismatic speaker and assassin, and our mother the strategist and healer. Alfred was always adventurous, running around the town with other children and stealing toys. He was good at staying under the radar, despite his loud personality. Dad took him under his wing and taught him everything he knew. He made sure to carve it into Alfred's skull to never trust anyone, not even me, because maybe I would turn out to be some psycho-killer or something like that and Alfred would have to be ready to deal with it. At just three years old, he was already in training to be a murderer, while Mom was teaching me how to be a medic like her.

"Then, when we were fifteen, our parents went to the capitol to plea for America's independence. They were arrested and we haven't seen them since. They might be in the dungeons. They might be dead. We don't know. The point is, that message that Dad gave to Alfred has been with him for his entire life. It changed him. Whether it changed him for better or for worse, I don't know. But what I _do_ know is that this Alfred is not the same one that could've been, if our roles were reversed."

"So that's why he's so untrusting?"

Matthew nodded. "Yeah. It's not because of you. It's because that's the only way he knows how to be, now."

"I see." Arthur nodded slowly. "Thank you, Matthew. I feel a bit better now."

"That wasn't me; that was the tea."

Arthur smiled. "But you made that, did you not?"

"Well, that's true."

"So, then, thank you for your help."

"Not a problem. It was a pleasure."

Arthur stood up and left with the full intention of finding Alfred and apologizing for his coldness, but just as he was exiting the infirmary he quite literally bumped into him.

"Alfred!" Arthur exclaimed.

"Sorry. I'll get out of your way." He moved to leave, but Arthur grabbed his hand.

"No, Alfred, wait. I want to talk to you."

Alfred sighed and faced Arthur. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry for being so insensitive. It was...cold...of me."

"It's okay." Alfred paused. "It hurt, though."

"That was the intention, and it was wrong." Arthur looked up at Alfred's eyes, and he felt a pang. The american looked so melancholic and lost. Arthur wanted to see him happy again. "I love you, Alfred."

Alfred blinked, then pulled Arthur into a tight hug, burying his face in the smaller man's shoulder. "I love you, too. I'm sorry for not telling you what was going on. I just... I'm so used to being wrapped in secrets..."

"I know. Matthew told me everything. It's okay. I'll be patient with you from now on."

"Can we never fight again ever?"

Arthur smiled and lightly tapped Alfred's nose. "Okay. I'd like that."

"Yeah. Me, too."

Alfred felt much more at ease after Arthur forgave him. He explained to Arthur what he intended to do, and the England Provincianer helped him get a new horse to replace his still-recuperating beloved mare. And thus, Alfred set off toward the capitol once more.

The stallion Arthur had gotten him was faster than Alfred's mare, so he estimated he would reach the capitol in just a day and a half. However, the gray horse didn't have a name. This bothered Alfred immensely, so he named him Tony, after his deceased friend.

The stallion was tough, able to run for a long time, and Alfred almost thought that Tony could understand what he was saying. He was truly intelligent. Alfred decided that he and Tony were friends. he said so out loud, and Tony didn't seem to object. And thus, their friendship began.

Other than conversations with this new friend, Alfred's journey was rather uneventful. He was pleased to see "Wanted" posters with his face on them nailed to trees. It meant that he had scared Spades, which meant that they would surrender faster. If the rebellion survived.

Alfred snuck into the city with ease, leaving Tony to wait for him outside the city walls. He quickly discovered where Baron Kirkland's manor was and dashed across the rooftops toward it. The windows were, as usual, open. _When will they learn?_

Alfred leaped into the window of a room that resembled a study. Alfred's eyes instantly widened. The number of books in that room was astounding. Shelves upon shelves upon shelves upon shelves lined the walls, filled with huge tomes about things that Alfred couldn't begin to pronounce. he couldn't help himself. Alfred lifted up a thick book about something called "aerodynamics" and started to read.

_So much information right at my fingertips..._ Alfred felt faint. He could learn anything about everything here. _Aerodynamics... Woah! Look at these cool pictures! Flying machines... I wish._

Alfred was torn out of the world of flight by the sound of china shattering. Standing in the now-open doorway was a man that could only be Baron Richard Kirkland, Arthur's father, with a broken teacup spilling its dark contents at his feet. A tall man with reddish-brown hair and a slight beard, he would've looked regal if not for the surprised expression covering his face.

Alfred slipped the book into its place, trying to keep his cool while he cleared his throat. "Baron Kirkland? I have a letter for you from your son."

The baron's features shifted from surprise to anger. "What have you done to my son? What have you done to Arthur?"

"Relax, Arthur's safe. Believe me. I personally made sure."

"And why should I believe your word, _Nighteagle_?" the baron sneered.

"Well, like I said, I have a letter." Alfred pulled the missive out of his pocket and held it out. The baron snatched it out of his hand and tore it open, eyes scanning the contents rapidly.

"This is absurd! 'Plea to Parliament.' This can't be Arthur's. He's loyal to Spades! But this signature...and the crest..." The baron crossed the room rapidly, jabbing his finger at Alfred's chest. "Did you hold him under torture? Hm?"

Alfred raised his hands in surrender. "I don't know what that letter says, but Arthur wrote it, and he did so of his own free will. he's safe. I swear it on my life."

There was something akin to wary acceptance in the taller man's eyes. "So then...my son truly wrote this?" he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, sir. I don't know what it says, but he wrote it."

"This plan of his... It will never work. Parliament cannot be swayed."

"Then, uh, what should we do?"

Richard thought for a moment. "You're considered a good assassin, correct?"

"Well, I am the most wanted assassin in Spades."

"Good. You'll need all your skills for this."

"What am I doing?"

The baron grinned, almost sadistically. "Regicide."

* * *

**AN: I AM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT. There are going to be more of these. It's not 'cause there's nothing written - there's all the way up to chapter 30 in my notebook - it's that I have to type stuff up and I don't really have much time. I've got finals coming up and the last grades of the quarter are going to be submitted soon, so I have to make sure all the stuff that I missed is handed in and graded on time. Also, ****_The Phoenix_**** is going to take up a lot of my time in July, so I'm going to update this more slowly so that, while I concentrate on that fic and don't write anything for this one, there's still something to supply you guys with. I really am sorry that it's taking so long to update. If you want you can bother me on my main tumblr or my writing one. Both links are in my profile. You can also shoot me an email at sailingprincessofhyrule . I'm on my email almost all the time (same thing with tumblr) so if you pester me enough I'll update.**

**So it appears that Alfred has discovered the Cardverse version of internet. Pretty exciting for someone who's probably only seen maybe ten books at a time. By the way, the Tony that died is ****_not _****Tony the Alien. This horse is, though. I mean, it's not an alien, but it is the version of Tony the Alien that this story will contain. I wonder if anyone can guess who dead Tony was supposed to be?**

**A'ight, I've taken up enough of your time. Until next chapter (and hopefully that will come around faster than this one did)!**


	23. Chapter 23

Before Alfred had left, he had given Arthur a letter he found while snooping around Pat's tent. This letter gave evidence that Arthur had not been the only spy in the rebel camp. To confirm that, though, Arthur would have to interrogate Gilbert, and after what the albino had done to Matthew, Arthur knew he was going to enjoy it all too much.

The former captain was being held in a shallow basement of one of the wooden shelters. It was dim and damp, the only light coming from one bright oil lamp above the albino's head. The hatch to enter creaked almost ominously when Arthur opened it, and the ladder shuddered underneath the English Provincianer's weight.

Gilbert was shackled to an iron beam that he slumped apathetically against, the cuffs chafing against his pale skin and leaving angry red marks. He looked tired, but in decent condition. If he cooperated, maybe he would stay that way.

"You were the last person I expected to turn on me," the albino laughed as Arthur approached. "How'd they get you to switch sides?"

"I'll be asking the questions," Arthur hissed. "And I didn't _switch sides_. I joined my own."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Arthur shoved the letter in his face. "Explain this."

"It's a letter. What is there to explain?"

Arthur felt anger rising up from within him. "And did you write this letter?"

"I don't know. I can't see."

"You still have one good eye."

"I can't make out the words."

Arthur raised a hand as though to slap Gilbert. "Don't test me, Beilschmidt. I'll make you regret being born."

"I'm serious! I can't see!"

"And why not?"

"It's too bright. Red eyes don't function well with tons of light, you know."

Arthur snatched the lamp from its hook and threw it to the ground, shattering it against the earth. "Better?"

"Easy there. You could've started a fire," Gilbert scolded, but at the dangerous expression on Arthur's face he shrank back. "Yeah, that's better." He took another look at the letter before him. "Yeah, I wrote this."

"To Pat?"

"To Pat."

"So he was another spy of yours?"

Gilbert nodded. "Yeah."

"That explains a lot." Arthur gave a little mock bow to Gilbert. "Thank you for your cooperation." He turned to leave.

"Arthur?"

A sigh escaped the England Provincianer. "What?"

"Can I go home?" Gilbert's expression was not stern. It was not intimidating, or powerful, or any number of things that it normally was. Rather, it was soft, almost pleading. "My brother's coronation is soon. My little, baby brother. I want to be there to watch." His body shook, as though trying to contain a sob. "I never wanted to be in this war. I swear to you, if you let me go, I won't aid your enemy. Please."

"I'll see what I can do. We may need you for more information, but if not...  
Tears bloomed from Gilbert's one eye, tears of joy and relief. "Thank you, Arthur. You're a saint, you know that?"

As Arthur left, he was happy to note that, though he could not lie to Alfred, he could still fake out anyone else.

"Wait. Back up. You're asking me to kill the _king_?"

Baron Kirkland nodded. "That's right."

"I thought you were loyal to Spades!"

"I am loyal to my son. If he wants to make a statement, there's no better way to do it than kill a public figure. While I may not keep in contact with him, I do care about him. Arthur is the only son have left. The only family, really."

Alfred tilted his head curiously. "What happened to your other sons?"

"Plague, boy. Now, do you want to know how to go about killing the king or not?"

The baron explained in detail what Alfred had to do, answering every question with impeccable confidence. At the end, Alfred felt more ready to continue with the plan, but he still felt wary.

"So when's the next meeting of Parliament?"

"This afternoon, in about three hours. Use the time to get past the guards and into position."

"And how do I know this isn't a trap?"

"You don't. The same way I don't know if my son is safe." The baron extended his hand. "I trusted you. Now you trust me."

Alfred looked at the hand for a moment, just thinking. Yeah, he was technically a criminal now, but killing a _king_? That was way beyond his figurative payroll. But if it helped his cause...

Alfred shook the baron's hand, determination in his eye. There was no going back now.

The American left the study through the window, running across rooftops until he reached the wall surrounding the castle, at which point he started scaling it. At the top, he ran swiftly, ducking into shadows when a guard came too close.

With a leap, he fell into the garden, landing safely in a shrub. Looking left and right, he dashed to the door leading into the castle proper.

The walls inside were pearly white, covered in sconces and paintings. the floor was polished marble decorated by a thick, plush navy rug embroidered with black gold. The ceiling was high and arched, with cherubic figures painted onto it. The castle was everything Alfred expected it to be.

He hated it.

There were no guards patrolling the hallways. It was almost too easy for Alfred to make his way through the royal halls and into the empty Parliament Chamber. Once inside, he walked to the raised platform where the king's throne sat, watching the seats of the politicians with royal grace and disgust. Alfred followed the baron's advice and climbed up the walls onto the arched ceiling, stopping over the figure of a cherub. There, Alfred began to set up his system of pulleys that would put this assassination into the history books.

When all was done, he waited. A beast in plain sight, awaiting its destined prey.

* * *

**AN: Wow I'm really sorry for the long wait. Finals got in the way, and then I got caught up in summer... You get the picture. Hopefully I'll get back into the swing of things?**

**...Did I say that last chapter? I think I might've. I'm really sorry.**

**Hey, y'all should review. It makes me update faster, yanno.**

**I'm kind of upset with the quality of this chapter. I wrote this chapter (and a whole bunch of others) a long time ago to keep you all alive while I work on ****_The Phoenix_**** in July, and I guess my writing improved since then because this seems low quality. Or maybe it just actually is low quality. I dunno. Leave me your thoughts.**

**Okay, see you next chapter! Which hopefully won't be a month from now.**


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